


Resident Evil: Unforgiving Nightmare

by Sarcosuchas



Series: Agenda [1]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Action, CC, Destruction, Europe, F/M, Glasgow, Horror, Hunters, Lickers, Multi, Nemesis - Freeform, OC, Romance, Suspense, T-Virus, Terror, Zombies, city, outbreak, tyrant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 02:35:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 46,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2174886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarcosuchas/pseuds/Sarcosuchas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new T-Virus outbreak decimates the city of Glasgow, Scotland, Europe. A handful of survivors must group together if they hope to escape from this nightmare before the city is reduced to ashes. Can they survive against malicious monsters, millions of zombies, a new Tyrant, a vengeful Wesker and a secret government agenda?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Genesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wesker's search for new equipment has terrible consequences for the lively city of Glasgow.

# GENESIS

_Outside Oswell. E. Spencer's hidden mansion, the thunder clashed loudly as lightning flashed violently and the rain pelted down with an angry torrent. Sitting in an automatic wheelchair, hooked up to various pieces of medical equipment, Oswell. E. Spencer spoke as Albert Wesker walked around him towards the large window. Spencer struggled as he was now in his nineties, his snow white hair on the back of his head, wrinkles dominating his face and his body frail_

  
_"... A new superior breed of human beings given birth by the Progenitor Virus. The Wesker children were entrusted with endless potential. Of them, only one survived. You."_

  
_Spencer struggled to breath as he spoke._

  
_Wesker stared out at the storm, dressed in his usual sinister attire. Black leather boots, trousers, gloves, short sleeved shirt and trenchcoat. Complete with his trademark sunglasses and slicked back hair. He tilted his head back to Spencer._

  
_"Are you saying I was manufactured?" He asked._

  
_"I was to become a God!" Spencer heaved out before coughing. "Creating a new world with an advanced race of human beings."_

  
_Wesker, slowly starting to realise that everything that had happened in his life had been because of this old man behind him, clenched his fists._

  
_"However, all was lost with Raccoon City." Spencer continued._

  
_Wesker raised his head, as the lightning flashed, his eyes glowed red._

  
_"Despite that setback, your creation still holds great significance." Spencer coughed out as he continued._

  
_Spencer struggled to stand up as he reflected and held onto the back of his hip as he straightened his posture._

  
_"Now my candle burns dimly." He reflected._

  
_Wesker began to walk towards the old man, his restraints gone as he now understood everything._

  
_"Ironic, isn't it?" Spencer asked. "For one who has the right to be a God! To face his own mortality."_

  
_Spencer turned round and looked up at Wesker, who stood before him with powerful confidence._

  
_"The right to be a God." Wesker repeated thoughtfully._

  
_Wesker grit his teeth as he suddenly bladed his hand and shoved it through Spencer's chest. The blood spurting out as the old man gargled in shock and pain as he hunched over Wesker. The lightning flashed and the thunder cracked loudly outside._

  
_"That right is now mine." Wesker finished and ripped his hand out of Spencer's chest._

  
_Spencer gasped his dying breath, his eyes wide as he fell to the floor, blood leaking out of his mouth. A pool of blood beginning to form under his now lifeless body._   
_Wesker looked down on Spencer's bleeding corpse._

  
_"The right to be a God. You? Arrogant even until the end." He thought aloud. "Only one truly capable of being a God deserves that right."_

  
_With that, Wesker walked back to the window as the storm increased in intensity._

Albert Wesker adjusted the magnification on the microscope as he peered down it with one of his icy eyes. Sitting examining aspects of the Las Plagas parasite reminded him of his early life. Working for Umbrella's research team developing the T-Virus. Wesker never forgot his dealings with a person, people such as James Marcus and William Birkin were no exception. Birkin always had a special place as he was the one who supplied the experimental virus that brought him back to life. Then again, it did feel somewhat less special now that he knew it was all part of Spencer's plan. Wesker sighed and put his thoughts aside as his latest colleague entered the room.

  
Excella Gionne was elegant, deceitful and above all, loyal. She knew how to get a job done. These qualities made Wesker approve of her services. Excella was dressed in golden high heels, a revealing white dress with golden belt, necklace and bracelets. Her thick black hair was tied up in a bun, making her seem taller than she actually was. Her small, bobble earrings bounced about as she walked towards Wesker's desk, her blue eyes fixated on him.

  
"Albert, these Umbrella labs are out of supplies and the equipment is aging." She explained with an African accent. "We need new supplies."

  
"Umbrella is never out of supplies." Wesker replied strongly, standing up.

  
"Well, we have none left here" Excella replied indignantly.

  
Wesker glared at her strongly, putting his sunglasses back on. "Then we shall find more."

  
"Shall I prepare a team?" Excella suggested.

  
"No. The BSAA have been looking around here recently. Use Tricell transportation within the area." Wesker replied. "I shall go alone. All I need is a helicopter."

  
Excella nodded in understanding and left the room.

____________________________________________________________________

Wesker sat down on a large black leather chair with three large monitors in front of it. The monitors were blank, just large black squares on the wall. Wesker slid back the thick leather padding on the arm of the chair to reveal a small control panel with a card disk slot. He inserted a dark disk that had Umbrella's logo on it into the slot on the arm of the chair and the monitors came to life with a flash of green light.

  
On the monitor directly infront of Wesker, an Umbrella symbol floated from the centre of the screen, getting bigger as it got closer, a dark green background behind it.

  
"Welcome to the Umbrella Archives" A robotic female voice said.

  
At the top of the screen, a silver toolbar with various options slid down into view, awaiting Wesker's instruction.

  
"Please select a file from the main directory." The robotic female voice requested.

  
Wesker browsed through different files before he came to a list of undiscovered Umbrella laboratories. Most of them were in America but he needed something a little closer to where he was - Africa.  
Then by refining his search, only one result came up on screen; highlighted in red.

  
"Umbrella Laboratory - Glasgow - Scotland"

  
Wesker selected this to find out what was still in the facility.

  
"B.O.Ws active - 50"  
"B.O.Ws inactive - 1"  
"Condition - Excellent"  
"Security - Medium"  
"Ownership: Umbrella Europe"

  
Wesker smirked to himself and noted the coordinates of the facility before turning off the monitors and leaving the room.

____________________________________________________________________

Soon after Excella had given the order, Tricell employees within Glasgow prepared to enter the abandoned Hive. The leader of the team, a middle aged man with trimmed, grey hair and a three day old stubble climbed into one of the large white vans and examined the map in front of him. The map lead through the streets of the city to the turn off to the entrance that had been hidden away for over thirty years now. Once he had memorised the route, he tucked the map into one of the pockets on his uniform. The uniform was similar to that of a soldier's uniform, except all black with the Tricell logo on the back. Sitting on the floor next to the handbrake of the van was an assault rifle. He had been advised to warn his team that the Hive would still have active BOWs and that they should remain vigilant when collecting the equipment and loading it into the vans. He yelled out the window of his van, his voice echoing throughout the warehouse they were in. His men heard his commands and got ready, jumping into their vans and checking their weapons. To avoid suspicion, they used large white transit vans with "Aqua Plumb" written on the sides. Once they were ready to go, the warehouse shutters slowly began to be raised. While he waited on them opening, the leader checked his dashboard computer monitor. A call was coming in. He answered it and watched as the screen flickered from static to a live video of Excella Gionne.

  
"Just a reminder, collect all the listed equipment and any viral samples." She informed. "Do not alert the local authorities and if anyone snoops around, exterminate them."

  
"Understood" The leader replied and ended the call.

  
By this time, the shutters had opened fully. With a forceful push of the handbrake and a fierce stomp on the accelerator, the leader rocketed out of the warehouse and onto one of the empty streets in this industrial area. Taking a sharp turn he sped down the road towards the inner city, the other nine vans matching his speed behind him. The convoy of vans turned some heads from pedestrians in the street but were quickly disregarded. The people of Glasgow had more to care about than an "Aqua Plumb" convoy.  
____________________________________________________________________

The morning sun was rising on the wild African horizon as Wesker surfaced from one of the many underground laboratories that used to belong to Umbrella and was now secretly owned by Tricell. Despite the morning sun making the air reach a high temperature, Wesker still wore his leather apparel. Sand blew into the air as the helicopter ahead of him started up its engines. It was going to be a long helicopter journey to Glasgow, but Wesker was determined to oversee the operation and collect any viral samples so they could be kept in his possession. Wesker quickly boarded the helicopter and strapped himself in. The helicopter pilot had a deep fear of Wesker and therefore remained silent as he finished firing up the engines and performed all the safety checks before lifting off the ground and rising into the African sky.  
____________________________________________________________________

The convoy eventually reached the entrance to the Hive. It was concealed inside a run down industrial estate on the opposite side of the city. The leader stepped out of his van, leaving the engine running as he walked up to the warehouse shutter control panel. He input a specific code. When he did, the display changed from the company front to an Umbrella Logo which spun on the screen before a female voice sounded:

  
"Welcome to the Hive"

  
The leader smirked before walking back and getting into his van again. Once he slammed his door shut, the shutter in front of him opened, revealing slowly that at the same time, the floor behind it began to slope downward into some kind of tunnel. After giving a signal, the leader drove down the slope, leading his men into the Hive. Once the tiled flooring disappeared, they turned right into a cold looking corridor, the walls seemed to be comprised of steel and concrete. Combinations of silver and grey everywhere. The Umbrella logo frequently featured on the walls along with various notices and warnings. In the top corners of the walls, the Red Queen's security cameras hung lifeless. The Red Queen having long since been deactivated. After a short period of driving through this long corridor, the vans came to an enormous arena like room. The vans stopped on a platform on the floor that was a different colour from the rest of the floor. An alarm sounded after a few seconds and this portion of the floor rapidly descended into the bowels of the Hive. The men waited patiently at the wheels of their vans. After a few minutes the platform came to a stop in a new room. In various directions there were cold, metallic doors that lead to different rooms. The drivers knew to arrange themselves so that the vans parked in spaced out positions allowing the drivers to exit their vehicles.  
The leader stood in the middle of the room, weapon strapped around his shoulders.

  
"Alright men, remember, there are active BOWs down here." He roared. "The Red Queen should have them locked away, but be on your guard!"

  
The men all took the safety locks off their weapons and stood ready.

  
"Alright, fan out and get the supplies!" The leader barked.

  
All the men ran off in separate directions, including the leader himself. They had limited time to search the Hive and get out before any suspicion came upon the operation. The faster they completed things then the less time was open for things to go wrong and for Wesker to get angry. The leader shivered, Wesker could chill him to the bone, the very thought of the man angry terrified the leader. He shook his head and focussed on the cold steel hallway before him, he had to be on his guard incase any BOWs were lurking ahead of him, or even behind. Moving swiftly down the corridor he kept his weapon trained for any movement. His ears strained to listen for any sound that was made. Once he reached the corner, he quickly whipped round and aimed his weapon. No sign of life ahead. There was a pair of double doors ahead, he made his way to them and gently opened one of them, keeping his weapon prepared and aimed at the innards of the room. However, there was nothing except untouched crates and other containers. This room was spacious. It had a walkway suspended fifteen feet above the floor, to the right of the room was a door leading into a lab, and on the left, a powerful shutter for storing BOWs.

  
"Looks like the Red Queen did her part before she died." He commented to himself before walking into the centre of the room.

  
The leader lowered his weapon to his side and walked freely into the deserted laboratory, searching through the room for what he needed to collect. He was in luck. Sitting, slightly dusty, was a briefcase with an electronic lock. The leader input a code into it and it opened with a pneumatic hiss. Inside, was vials containing the infamous T-Virus. The deadly virus responsible for most of Umbrella's hideous BOWs and the tragic events in Raccoon City. He locked up the case and took it from the table, heading towards the door to get back to the van. Suddenly, the lights flickered as the Hive had some kind of power surge. The light above the shutter on the leader's right turned to red and then green. The leader sighed and kicked the double doors open, jogging back to the van. When he got there, the other men were loading their vans with heavier equipment and crates.  
Once all the men had loaded their vans and slammed the doors shut, the sound echoing off the concrete and metal, the leader bellowed an order to leave. He got into his van and gunned the engine impatiently.  
____________________________________________________________________

Wesker adjusted his sunglasses as the blazing African sun forced itself through the windows, the glass magnifying the already intense heat.

  
"Master Wesker" The pilot announced. "May I ask why you wear black leather in such heat?"

  
Wesker snapped his head towards the pilot.

  
"The temperature is far lower underground." Wesker replied flatly.

  
There was a momentary silence.

  
"Is that where the labs are?" The pilot asked out of abrupt curiosity.

  
Wesker stayed silent for a moment. He knew this behaviour all too well.

  
"Where the labs are is none of your concern." Wesker replied monotonously.

  
The pilot silenced for the time being.  
____________________________________________________________________

The other men were surprised at the leader's sudden hurry but didn't take too much time to ponder over it. Echoing through the concrete hallways were strange noises. The kind of noises that made the hairs on the back of their necks stand on edge and let a cold shiver run down their spines. Growls, gasps, hisses and moans all echoed towards them from every direction. All the men noticeably shook with fear and scrambled into their vans, the platform raising automatically, lifting them all to the surface so that they could race off one by one.  
____________________________________________________________________

The pilot decided to ask a question that was more relevant.

  
"What happens when we arrive?" He asked.

  
Wesker sighed, irritated.

  
"I check on the operation while you refuel and once it is over, I reboard this helicopter and we head back to base." He replied.

  
"Thank you, sir. I was just making sure." The pilot replied, trying to ease the growing tension.  
____________________________________________________________________

The vans were now as a speeding convoy like before. However this time they were travelling far faster. They had been travelling for a while now, no longer caring for onlookers in the streets as they approached George Square. They continued to speed along the road they were on, almost entering the square while ignoring the sound of sirens in the distance.  
____________________________________________________________________

"One last question, sir." The pilot asked, being brave.

  
Wesker sighed. "Fine"

  
"What would happen if like, there was a repeat of Raccoon City? Would you survive it?" He asked, trying to sound hypothetical.

  
"If I didn't get out before they bombed it, of course I wouldn't. Otherwise, yes." Was Wesker's monotonous but honest answer.

  
The pilot nodded his head and fell silent. Excellent.  
____________________________________________________________________

The vans drove through George Square as fast as they could, passing the side streets without any care. It was a miracle none of them were hit by cars pulling out. The sirens in the distance were getting louder and closer the further the vans went. People in the streets looked on in amazement and then horror as the leader passed another street. The sirens had been police cars chasing a stolen vehicle which had suddenly smashed into the side of the leader's van. The right side of the van was smashed in and the force of the hit sent the van rolling over in a screech of bending metal and smashing glass. The other vans, who were too close to react, smashed into the stolen vehicle, who's driver had been crushed due to the impact. The police cars also joined in the crash, having no time to slow down and save themselves. The road was a mess of broken metal, smashed glass and crumpled vehicles. A crowd had formed around the scene as they looked to see any survivors. The equipment in the vans were broken by the crashes. The leader woke up, having been briefly knocked out on impact. He checked what remained of his dashboard and realised the briefcase with the viruses in it had been broken. The glass tubes that held the viruses had been smashed and there was traces of them all over the van, the road and his body. He quickly realised he had been cut in countless places from the shattering of the windscreen and the virus would be going into the cuts. He groaned as he tried to get up and cried out when he couldn't. His leg was trapped under the crumpled dashboard. He sat up as best he could and tried to lift the wreckage of the dashboard off his leg. Despite how strong he was, he couldn't lift it. His ears twitched when he heard an odd hissing noise. The leader looked around him and noticed that the gaseous T-virus was changing state to a liquid. The strange, blue liquid began to drip from various areas in the overturned van and landed on his body. It started seeping into his cuts and some drops fell into his agape mouth. He coughed and tried to spit it out but failed. It didn't matter as his open wounds were his downfall. He pressed into the radio that was attached to the front of his uniform.

  
"All units, report." He spoke with a rasp.

  
The only reply he got was the constant hiss of static. That's when he smelled it. That familiar smell of fuel catching fire. The leader renewed his attempts to get free from the dashboard, not caring about the pain he was causing himself as his instinct to live and the adrenaline produced from his fear was numbing it considerably. Glancing out the window frames, he noticed people running away. The people on the street could see the flames erupting from several of the car engines. Then the leader noticed his own engine was an eruption of flames.

  
"Oh hell" He muttered to himself.

  
Like a fireworks display, the burning cars all exploded one by one, bursting into flames with wheels and engine parts shooting into the air. Some engine parts impaled onlookers in the street, generating blood curdling cries as the flames began to spread to the other cars. The sounds of multiple fire truck sirens and people's screams echoed throughout the square. An ominous black cloud started to rise into the sky.  
_______________________________________________________________________

After a long journey with surprisingly only one refuel stop, the black helicopter had finally made it to the edges of Glasgow city. In the upper side of the city, there was a lot of black smoke from some kind of fire. Not that Wesker cared for some car accident. It wasn't an issue to him. He needed to check on the Glasgow Hive of Umbrella Europe and then get a direct update from the Tricell team dispatched to mine the Hive of necessary equipment and virus samples. Observing the city through his sunglasses, Wesker's red eyes took in a sight that was up to his expectations. Under the morbid grey clouds, the city's skyline didn't possess many high rise buildings. Of course, there were plenty of buildings with plenty of floors to them but nothing on a New York scale. The city's lower sides seemed more rough and poor looking. Again, not that Wesker cared for the city's economy or people. He was stronger than any of its inhabitants. His expression remained the same, despite the slight sense of positivity he got from seeing that they were closing in on the Hive entrance. Unlike the majority of the journey so far, now that they were so close to the destination, the building seemed to rush towards them far faster than anything else had before it. As the helicopter quickly descended and touched down on the roof of the warehouse, Wesker silently unbuckled his safety belt and slid open the door, stepping out onto the slightly damp roof. His leather trenchcoat flapped in the wind of the rotorblades but strangely enough his hair did not move. The pilot observed Wesker from the front of the chopper as Wesker walked towards the edge of the building. He noticed a ledge halfway down the building, so he quickly jumped off the edge. In a calm and controlled manoeuvre, he used the ledge as a footstool to slow his descend so that he could land on the ground.

When he landed on the concrete, there was a loud thud as his boots connected with the concrete slabs. Wesker stood up straight and from memory, input the code into the shutter locking system. The shutter raised up slowly as the floor behind it descended down into the tunnel towards the entrance to the Hive. Wesker confidently walked down the concrete tunnel. His footsteps echoed around him as he continued to descend. Where the vans had taken a right turn, Wesker took a left. There was a door in his way. He tried to open it normally but it was locked. He noticed a keypad next to it, so he input a code to unlock it. The light above the door did not change from red to green. He input several more codes but they all had the same effect. Wesker grunted with impatience and kicked the door clean off its hinges. The heavy steel door soared into the next room, clanging off a concrete wall loudly.

  
Wesker stepped through the doorway and onto a long platform. Directly ahead of him was an Umbrella Corporation train. Wesker opened the door to the front carriage and tested the power. Surprisingly, the electricity surged through the train and brought it back to life with a mechanical roar. Wesker smirked and released the brakes, allowing the train to slowly begin to roll along the tracks. These tracks would lead it down to a platform inside the Hive itself. Electricity flashed under the train as it picked up speed while Wesker examined the map to the Hive. He had heard rumours of Umbrella Europe having a secret prototype B.O.W that they never told anyone about. It was a possibility, Umbrella always had some secrets left. Wesker closed his eyes and shook his head slightly before opening them again. The B.O.Ws down in the Hive were probably all dead after having no one to maintain them for so many years.

  
After ten minutes or so, the train came to a stop, signaled by the ear splitting screech of the rusted breaks. Wesker stepped out onto the platform. The platform extended to a large white tiled room supported by six large pillars spread evenly down the length of the platform. On the platform itself, there were many abandoned Umbrella crates. There was no way of knowing what was inside the numerous grey crates that decorated the floor of the platform, stacked up against pillars like some kind of city skyline. Wesker walked away from the train, his eyes already focussed on the large white tiled staircase that led to the Hive entrance. His footsteps echoed through the eerie silence of the disused facility. Surprisingly, all the lights were still on, despite the facility being shut down years ago. Wesker didn't let this concern him as he powered up the flight of stairs, however the next thing he saw did make him stop to think. The blast doors to the Hive were open. They are always closed and would have been closed when the facility shut down. Something must have caused the doors to open as the Tricell team never used this entrance. Wesker, now cautious, took out his Samurai Edge handgun and kept it aimed as he walked through the doors and approached the first corner. He spun round the corner, aiming his gun, ready for anything but he was met with an empty corridor. Wesker carefully paced down the corridor, his footsteps echoing off the concrete walls and steel pipes on the ceiling. As he continued on, he was reminded of his time in the Spencer Mansion so many years ago when he lured S.T.A.R.S in to test Umbrella's B.O.Ws. Wesker finally came to the elevators, since the power was back on, he tried the elevator. The doors opened and Wesker stepped in, selecting the bottom floor. As the doors closed and the elevator rapidly descended, Wesker kept his Samurai Edge trained at the door in case anything was on the other side as soon as they opened.

  
Eventually, the elevator came to a sudden stop. Wesker backed up and kept his gun aimed at the doors. The doors opened with a metallic hiss revealing a darkened laboratory. All the lights were out on this level it seemed. Wesker kept his sunglasses on and stepped out of the elevator, listening out for anything that would signal he wasn't alone. Straining his ears, Wesker could hear some kind of shuffling in the room but nothing more. It antagonised him that he couldn't see anything in the room ahead. Looking to his left, he noticed some kind of fuse box. Wesker opened it, the door of the box squeaking as it moved on old hinges. At this sound, there was more shuffling and what sounded like groaning. Wesker noticed several of the fuses had been tripped by some form of power surge, he flicked all of them back up and the lights sparked back to life. Turning around, he realised what the sounds had been.

  
Just as he had predicted, the room was full of zombies, all of them heavily decomposed but still recognisable by their work clothes. They all groaned like an undead choir and shuffled slowly towards Wesker. Wesker put his Samurai Edge away and walked confidently towards them. Once one was close enough, it outstretched its arms and grabbed Wesker's shoulders with surprising strength. In less than a second, Wesker rocketed one of his hands under the chin of the zombie, snapping its neck back, breaking it with a single loud crack. The zombie's decomposed body fell back and landed on the ground with a thud. The zombies began to gather together but Wesker wasn't bothered by that. He continued walking, side kicking a zombie several feet away. One tried to grab him from behind but he rapidly flipped it over his shoulder and crushed its skull with his boot. As he continued on, he punched some of the zombies in front of him, their necks cracking due to the force that he punched their rotting faces with. Wesker was getting tired of having to fight them, so after smashing two zombies' skulls together, he prepared himself with a quick breath before rushing through the room with his super speed. In the process, he broke the shoulders and arms of any zombies that were too close as he rushed through the large room.

Once he got to the other side of the room, he came to a large metal door with a keypad locking system. Wesker calmly put in the code now that he was several metres away from the zombies. The doors opened with a pneumatic hiss to reveal the labs that the B.O.Ws were actually created in. As expected, the tanks were smashed with glass and stagnant liquid covering the floor. Wesker closed the door and walked through the lab, his feet splashing the water and chemicals that were on the floor. Littered in the water, was glass, blood, paper and lab equipment. Strangely, there was nothing of use in this lab. When the B.O.Ws got free, they must have destroyed everything in the lab. It was then that Wesker noticed a dull humming sound in the room, like a generator for electricity. Looking above, he noticed that some pipes and tubes seemed to be active. So he followed them to see what was still operational in this lab. What he saw astounded even him. In an undamaged tank, was a tyrant he had never seen any files on before. Sedated in the tank, was a humanoid creature that was over eight feet tall with brown mottled skin. Its head was bald, and sported one eye, the other had large staples over it, holding some kind of wound closed. It had small holes for nostrils and its mouth was contorted into a malevolent grin. Its teeth were huge and sharpened to a point and above them, its dark gums seemed to have a severe case of gingivitis. Its shoulders were very broad and its entire body was compact and very strong looking. One of its hands had been changed to a mechanical claw similar to the jaws of life but much bigger. Wesker had never seen such a thing on a B.O.W before and wondered how such a thing would aid it in combat. Suddenly, the sound of a sparking wire took Wesker's eyes off the creature. At the bottom of the tank, a loose cable was sparking against the liquid on the floor. Next to it, there was a faded file that seemed to be about the creature in the tank. Wesker lifted it and read what he could:

"So far this is all we have gained through our experiments however there is one more creature. One that distinguishes itself from the rest. The Tyrant. According to some documentation Umbrella have filed through about the Tyrant, this one appears to be Unique. After using the results of the original 002 Tyrant and the 'Nemesis' we have created a much more powerful version. It's powers include:

Psychokinetic abilities  
Super Strength  
Enhanced Intelligence  
Long Tentacles  
Enhanced Agility

Basically everything about this wonderful creation is astounding. Its powers are astonishing and almost without flaw. The only real drawback is its protruding flesh from its back leaves it totally vulnerable. However with all its powers the 003 Tyrant is indeed almost unstoppable and certainly impervious to any Conventional Weaponry. Although most of the Scientists and Birkin already gave it the name: 'Psycho Nemesis,' we have all finally decided on Project 'Nightmare.'

The main jewel of this Creature is the fact that it can never truly die. While the Nemesis was indeed weakened eventually, the 'Nightmare' has proven that it cannot truly die. When it appears to have faded from existence the Tyrant will merely get back up and continue its relentless hunt although after it does it becomes slightly more mutated each time.

The most excruciating thing about the creation of this creature is the mere fact how rare it is for a single human to have the appropriate genetic code required for the Tyrant Project. We could search the entire USA and Europe only come up with a single available subject. It's maddening.

However nothing has been known so far of The Nightmare's combat data. However we wish to test this as soon as possible. Hopefully it will perform as we expect it to.

My family were always meant for greatness and its only destiny that I am the one to success the family line by creating this work of art.

Signed Carter Ashford."

Wesker looked back up at the tyrant in the tank.

  
"So this is the secret B.O.W of Umbrella Europe, eh?" He mused aloud.

  
Wesker examined the tyrant a little more before he heard the loud, echoing bangs of the zombies on the door. The zombies were no threat to him but they would attract the attention of other B.O.Ws if any were still down there with him. Despite his power, he would rather avoid a battle with the various demons of Umbrella if he had the opportunity. Dropping the file about the tyrant, Wesker walked back towards the door. There would be too many zombies on the other side for him to rush through without the risk of being bitten, so he had to find another way passed them. Looking around, Wesker's cat like eyes fell upon a gas canister. Lifting it with ease, he placed it in front of the door and drew out his Samurai Edge. Inputting the code for the door, he quickly paced backwards and aimed his gun at the canister.

The grey metal doors hissed as they opened, revealing a horde of walking cadavers, all moaning and groaning for Wesker's warm, living flesh. Wesker waited until the canister was in the centre of the advancing horde before firing his gun. The bullet shot through the air and penetrated the canister, the resulting spark igniting the gas, causing the canister to explode into a large fireball, sending the now flaming zombies flying in all directions. Wesker took this opportunity to run through the door, jumping over the flames and back into the room he had first seen the zombies in. Using his powers, he ran at super speed to get to the door he first entered through which took him back to the platform. He descended the stairs at a brisk walking pace, the bottom of his trenchcoat scraping off the higher steps as there was no wind to lift it. He was about to board the train when he heard the swinging of a light on the roof.

  
Wesker looked up in time to see a licker drop down from the ceiling. The licker slowly crawled towards him, its claws hitting off the tiles, generating small, sinister noises. The licker raised up on its haunches and shot its tongue out towards Wesker. Wesker dodged to the side with blinding speed, he grabbed the tongue and pulled it, lifting the licker off its feet and reeling it towards him. When it reached Wesker, the leather clad superhuman kicked the licker on the side of the head. A sudden, loud crack signaled the licker's death as its neck was broken by the force of the kick.  
Wesker dropped the tongue and boarded the train, powering up the engines again so that he could escape from the Hive. It was time he checked on the Tricell team.  
____________________________________________________________________

Once the train had reached the ground level platform, Wesker stepped off and listened for a brief moment. Echoing along the track were the sounds of the various B.O.Ws, howling for his blood. This didn't disturb him as he walked out the door he first came in and walked up the ramp so that he was back in the warehouse. To avoid any possible eyewitnesses, he didn't close the ramp. Leaving it open for any B.O.Ws to escape from the Hive. It didn't matter what happened to Glasgow, Wesker's plans would succeed anyway. It was just a shame that Chris Redfield couldn't attend this final T-virus outbreak. As he breathed in the evening air, he heard the pilot call him from the top of the warehouse. Wesker looked up and summoning his viral strength, jumped more than half the height of the building itself. He grabbed onto a drainage pipe and then jumped again, landing on the roof.

  
"What is it?" He snarled, his trenchcoat flapping in the evening wind.

  
"I found the Tricell team!" The pilot announced, handing Wesker a pair of binoculars.

  
Wesker put the binoculars to his eyes and looked in the direction the pilot was pointing. That's when he saw it, the chaos of the pile-up earlier with the vans. Fire crews, police and ambulances all there. They had failed to drive, let alone complete the mission.

  
Wesker was broken from his concentration by a sudden force slamming into his back, sending him falling off the edge of the roof. He fell in silence, and landed on his feet perfectly. He looked up and saw the pilot starting up the helicopter. The pilot was planning on betraying him. Wesker snarled in anger and jumped up to the roof effortlessly. By this time, the helicopter had lifted off the ground, and was out of Wesker's reach.

  
"Sorry Wesker, but my real employer wants you dead!" The pilot yelled. "So thanks for the money I've just earned!"

  
"You will regret this." Wesker called back, his eyes glowing red. "That is a promise."

  
The pilot laughed and flew off into the night sky, leaving Wesker abandoned on the rooftop. The city itself, was soon to become a repeat of Raccoon City. Wesker, as always, was on his own and had to get out before they bombed this city too. Turning his back to the shrinking helicopter in the distance, he jumped off the edge of the building and landed on the ground with a loud thud. Calmly, he walked away from the building as now the sounds of the B.O.Ws were very near and soon to be in the city. Wesker knew he would get out. He had to now. The only thing driving him for now, revenge.  
____________________________________________________________________

**Well, that's the first chap finished. All the chapters are planned but do take time to write. Wesker won't feature again for a while, as this is more of an introduction and explanation of the outbreak than anything else. This is not a Wesker centred fic, so don't worry!**   
**God knows when the next chap will be up, but I'll try make it as soon as possible.**   
**If you've read to here, then please review. I accept feedback. Bare in mind though, mindless flames will be used to cook my waffles.**


	2. Virus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Overnight, the busy city has become a dead zone.

# VIRUS

A television sparked to life in a cold, silent hotel room. The first channel was the Scottish News channel with breaking news, so it was kept on this channel. A female news reporter with short blonde hair announced seriously;

  
_"Unconfirmed reports have come in about a possible biohazard event on the scale of the Raccoon City Incident."_ She took a breath and continued;

  
_"Due to the nature of the biohazard, the government has regrettably quarantined the city. Military forces are moving past the blockades in a last hope to contain the infection but the chances of this being effective are grim at best."_

  
The news showed footage of military forces beginning to quarantine the city and move in with military jeeps full of soldiers. It finally cut back to the reporter;

  
_"In related news, the international manhunt for Umbrella founder, Mr. Ozwell E. Spencer continues. 5 years since Umbrella were confirmed responsible for the biohazard outbreak in Raccoon City 10 years ago. Rumours state that Mr. Spencer is dead, but the Special Forces leading the manhunt, refuse to believe such claims."_

  
The television was turned off, the black screen showing the hotel room in the reflection along with the owner of the room. Standing in the middle of the room, at a height of 6ft, was a 23-year-old man. He wore black trainers and black jeans that were held up by a black belt. His torso was covered by a sleeveless black top with a crocodile on it. The black fabric of the top revealed his slim physique and the lack of sleeves showed his muscular arms, decorated by various scars and tanned a golden brown colour. On his left wrist sat a black digital watch and just below it his hand was covered by a black leather fingerless glove. A fingerless glove also covered his right hand. The man walked over to the mirror in the room and stared into his own piercing blue eyes. His straightened dirty blonde hair was parted near the middle, so that one side hung down over one of his eyes and the other side stayed to the side of his head. He stared into his eyes, just thinking about things for a couple minutes before walking over to the window and looking out at the city of Glasgow with a sigh. Vincent Dominique had arrived here earlier today to reunite with old friends, having lived abroad for so long. However, in just a couple of hours the whole city had gone crazy for some reason. Car crashes in George Square, unidentified helicopters and bizarre murder cases all happening at the same time. This hellish disruption and mass panic was going to make it very hard to find his friends. Vincent was determined that he would find them despite the chaos, so he pulled on a black leather jacket and grabbing his keys, left the hotel room.

Once he closed the door and the sharp click of the lock sounded as he turned the key, he realised how deadly silent the building was. Looking to his right, the long corridor extended away from him, silent and no sign of anything having happened in it. The lights were still on and were reflected by the tiles on the floor. Vincent felt that something wasn't quite right in the building. He could normally hear people in a corridor like this. He hesitated for a moment before walking down the corridor, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. Some of the hotel doors had been left ajar but Vincent ignored them, despite the madness of the city he still respected people's privacy. He reached the elevator and pushed the button to call it to his floor. While he waited, the lights in the corridor flickered above him. Vincent sighed, knowing the electricity was probably going to cut out soon. He did not want to be stuck in the elevator when that happened.

After what felt like an hour, the elevator arrived and the doors opened. Vincent stepped in and looked at the mirror on the back wall of the elevator. There seemed to be red smears on the glass. Looking at it closely, he could have sworn it was blood. Surely things hadn't got that bad already? As the doors closed and he pushed the button for the ground floor, Vincent began to wonder whose blood it was and how it even got there.

  
The elevator bounced as it hit the ground floor. Vincent turned round as the doors opened and was taken aback by what he saw. The reception area was a ruin. Vases smashed on the floor, sheets of paper everywhere, overturned chairs and tables. The desk itself had a mobile lying on it in a pool of blood that was dripping onto the white tiles of the floor with soft splashes. Glasses and bottles were smashed on the floor, leaving puddles of alcohol and glass all over the floor. Some of the alcohol ended up mixing with the blood creating patches of strange orange liquid that gave off a pungent smell. Vincent slowly stepped out of the elevator, feeling very unsafe without a weapon. The stairs down to the front door were just a few feet ahead of him, through all the glass, paper, alcohol and blood. His eyes drifted to his left and to his horror, he saw a dead body. The torso was slumped against the wall, blood covering the once white shirt, staining it a dark red. The body was missing the head, which was lying on the floor a few feet away. The look of surprise was still evident on the pale head that lay in a pool of its own blood; a broken shard of bone was sticking out of the slice in the neck. Vincent felt a cold shiver rush down his spine as he stared at the beheaded man before him. Who or what could behead a man in a hotel reception? Vincent slowly crept forward towards the stairs, trying to be as silent as possible in case he wasn't alone. As he walked into the centre of the room, the glass shattering under his feet from the weight of his body he heard some kind of clicking. There was an all round balcony above him, as on the next floor was the restaurant and you could look down onto the reception from it.

  
A shard of glass fell from the balcony prompting him to look up. When he did, he widened his eyes as he saw some kind of humanoid lizard jump down towards him with enormous claws on its hand. The claws were already swinging towards his neck before Vincent dived out of the way of the creature, landing on his side before sliding along the wet floor. He stood up, the alcohol running down the right side of his black jacket and falling to the floor in small droplets. Vincent took a moment to study the creature before him.

  
It was as tall as him, with dark green scaly skin. Its feet had three large white claws and its hands had four. Its body was muscular and its head had some kind of frill that ran from its forehead down onto its back. Its mouth was small but was lined with razor sharp teeth. Its eyes were a creepy, piercing yellow that seemed to be without a soul. The creature tilted its head back and released a loud shriek before running towards Vincent. Vincent jumped to his left as the creature swung for him, its claw managed to catch his chest, ripping his shirt open and cutting his chest. It wasn't a deep cut but it was enough to bleed across every millimetre of it. Vincent didn't have time to clutch his chest as the creature had already spun round and was charging him again. Before he could react, the creature jumped several feet into the air and landed on top of him, pinning him to the floor. The creature's weight was crushing his chest, pushing the air out of his lungs and causing it to spurt out blood making Vincent cry out in pain. The creature raised its right hand, preparing its claws to stab his life away but Vincent wasn't prepared to die yet. Scanning the room quickly, he noticed a bottle that had the bottom smashed off it. He quickly grabbed it and stabbed the creature in the side, its dark green scales putting up some resistance against the glass before caving in and allowing the sharp glass entry. The creature wailed in pain and jumped off of Vincent, trying to pull out the glass bottle but only succeeded in shattering it, leaving glass embedded in its scaly skin. Vincent stood up quickly and jumped behind the reception desk. Lying on the floor next to where he landed was another dead and bloodied corpse under a bag of golf clubs. Vincent grabbed one of the golf clubs as he stood up again, holding the steel iron golf club like some kind of weapon. The creature shrieked again and ran at him, jumping into the air with enough force to send it rocketing almost horizontally towards him. Vincent gripped the handle of the club tightly and swung it to his side, striking the creature on its ribs. The force of the hit sent the creature hurtling to Vincent's left before crashing into a computer. The humanoid lizard fell to the floor with a loud thud as bits of glass and computer parts rained down on top of it and onto the floor. The creature struggled to get up, as it was slightly dazed from the impact however Vincent didn't give it time as he had already started beating it with the club, trying to kill it. The scales on its back were putting up an incredible fight. Gaining confidence, Vincent kicked the creature so it rolled onto its back and started clubbing its face. The creature roared out in pain as the bones in its face were smashed and crushed by the steel golf club that was swung down in a relentless rhythm. Foul smelling green blood began to re-colour the floor as the creature was finally silenced and its resisting spasms ended. Vincent hit it one more time and the head of the club came off, remaining embedded in the bloody mash up that was once the creature's face. He dropped the remaining part of the golf club and cleaned himself up with some tissues from the box on the desk. Once he'd wiped up the blood and his chest had stopped bleeding, he grabbed the strongest looking golf club and walked down the slightly slippery steps and out into the streets of Glasgow.  
_____________________________________________________________________

The mobile phone let out the small, sudden tones as the owner waited on their friend to answer. This was one message that could not go to voicemail. The owner of the mobile held their breath as they waited for the phone to stop ringing. Their nerves were raging through their body causing them to breath heavily and shake slightly. Finally a voice answered on the other end.

  
"Aye?" A thick Glasgow accent replied.

  
"Vinnie, its Mark I -" The owner of the mobile began but was cut off.

  
"Aye, I know its you." The gruff voice replied. "What dae ya want?"

  
Mark smiled, Vincent DiMicco never did change. "I need a rather prompt taxi from the pathology department."

  
"And where do ya want tae go?" Vinnie asked.

  
"My own labs on the other side of town." Mark replied quickly, pacing across the room he was in.

  
"I'll be there in 5." Vinnie replied and hung up without a goodbye.

  
Mark Nottingham was a thirty two year old pathologist; he paced through the pathology department of Glasgow wearing flame job high tops, denims, a black jumper and a white lab coat. His hair was brown and buzzed. At a height of 6ft, he looked down at the dead body lying on the operating table. It was severely mutilated during one of the new and bizarre murders that had been taking place. While performing the autopsy, Mark had discovered a strange substance in the blood stream. He had managed to take a sample of it and had since placed the sealed test tube into a HAZ-MAT suitcase for safety. He wrapped up the body and managed to lift it onto a trolley before wheeling it out of the room, turning off the lights as he left.  
_____________________________________________________________________

Standing outside with the trolley, Mark was not disappointed as a silver Vauxhall Astra pulled up in front of him. Inside, Vinnie DiMicco was sitting at the wheel, seatbelt undone. He was a rather large man. His dark blonde hair was tied back into a ponytail and he was wearing thick sunglasses, despite it nearing darkness. He was wearing a black suit jacket with matching trousers and shoes. Under the jacket was a white shirt that had the top buttons undone.

  
Mark commented through the rolled down window. "Well well, someone looks like a made man"

  
"Weesht and get in!" Vinnie barked in response.

  
Mark chuckled and lifted the body into the back seat before closing the door and getting in the front with Vinnie, buckling up by habit.

  
"Is that a fucking body?" Vinnie asked with surprise.

  
"Yeah, why?" Mark replied.

  
"If the police do a random spot check, we're fucked, you know that, right?" Vinnie replied, already gunning the engine regardless.

  
"Which is why you better get there quick" Mark replied with a smile, leaning back in the seat.

  
"Smart arse" Vinnie muttered under his breath before driving swiftly onto the road due to there being very little traffic on this side of the city.

Everyone was of course heading to the blockades to hopefully be evacuated, unfortunately however, many people would be refused to prevent any further contamination. Since there was a lack of traffic, Vinnie decided to speed most of his way to the labs as by the sound of things, the police would be rather occupied.  
Mark, happy at the speed his companion was driving at, decided to put the car radio on to see what was happening. A male newsreader with a gruff voice was already half way through the news story.

  
_"Due to the ever increasing chaos in Glasgow, the mayor will be evacuated individually by a special US agent."_ He announced. _"The agent in question is supposedly highly experienced in these kind of events and is guaranteed to evacuate the mayor safely."_

  
Vinnie turned the radio off after this as he continued to increase in speed.

  
"Its bollocks to know that they help all the smarmy bastards first!" He growled.

  
Mark could only chuckle at his friend's anger at a time like this. As he did, he looked in the rear view mirror and to his horror, saw the body rise up and the black cover slide off it. The pale, mutilated face turned to them and stared at Vinnie with white, soulless eyes and let out a low moan. Before Mark could warn Vinnie, the body lurched forward and bit Vinnie on the back of his neck. The big man screamed in agony and surprise as the teeth sunk into his flesh causing blood to spurt all over the seat. Vinnie let go of the steering wheel to try and hit the corpse off of him. Mark tried to assist his friend and managed to pull the corpse off of Vinnie but the corpse never let go, so it took a chunk of Vinnie's neck with it in a sudden, bloody rip. Vinnie wailed in pain and clutched the massive wound, the red liquid spilling through the gaps between his fingers. During all this, Vinnie's foot has never left the accelerator. This was noticed by Mark too late as the car made contact with something on the road and made a sickening lurch as it flipped into the air and came crashing down on its roof, skidding along the road sending sparks flying into the air before smashing into a lamppost, causing it to bend and fall on top of the car.  
Mark's vision was blurred at first as he shook his head and let the pain settle in. His chest was burning from the seatbelt digging into it as he sat upside down in the car, relatively unharmed. Turning his head, he noticed that Vinnie was not so fortunate and was killed when the car flipped, his neck still bleeding from the bite. With a groan, Mark unbuckled his seatbelt and dropped onto the roof of the car, small bits of glass coating it from the smashed windows. When he hit the roof, the corpse in the back of the car groaned to life. Mark's heart thumped with panic as he looked for something he could use to defend himself with. To his surprise, the door of the glove box had been broken off and inside there was a Beretta M9 Inox and some spare magazines. He quickly grabbed the gun and flicked the safety off, aiming it at the cadaver's pale forehead and pulled the trigger. The body stopped moving as what remained of its brains were blasted out the back of its head. Crouching in the overturned car, Mark collected the magazines and pocketed them. It was then that he saw many pairs of feet shuffling towards the car. More of these zombies were outside and were now banging on the underside of the car. As this continued, Mark realised they weren't intelligent enough to figure out how to get to him, so he stayed in the car, now trapped by these relentless cannibalistic corpses.

_____________________________________________________________________

In a small storeroom, a television was on and announcing the news to the small room. The news correspondent was live in one of the many streets of Glasgow and behind her; armed police were shooting at a labelled murderer. The correspondent quickly shouted that the numbers of cannibalistic murders were increasing in the city and that some were beginning to think it was some kind of virus like an earlier incident several years ago. Behind her, a van skidded to a halt with the back doors bursting open to allow six well armed SWAT members to jump out of it and take a part in the increasingly violent action. The correspondent looked at them and turned back to the camera, explaining that they were the best the city had to offer and would hopefully succeed in calming the on going riot. While she was explaining this, there were cries from around her and before she or the camera crew could react, one of these supposed murderers came up behind her and bit into her neck, blood spurting out onto the camera as she wailed in agony before the channel cut from the feed.

  
"Fuck's sake!" A male voice exclaimed. "We're at work while that's happening!"

  
Sitting in front of the television, with their feet up, was Ryan Gilmore. At the age of 23, he was still young and his attitude displayed this perfectly. He stood up, rising to his full height of 6ft exactly. He adjusted his black puffer jacket and the belt on his black combat trousers before walking out of the room and to the counter outside, his black combat boots thudding on the tiled floor. Ryan jerked his head to get his fringe out of his left eye. His hair was jet black and was the stereotypical emo fringe style. Semi-long and straightened with a long fringe commonly covering one eye. As Ryan reached the counter, he also reached his workmate. In comparison, his workmate was a boy, only 17 years old, clad in black skinny jeans, a black metal band T-shirt with very long dirty blonde hair. Although, it appeared the boy hadn't heard Ryan's comment as he was staring down at the entrance to the HMV store.

  
"Uhh, Ryan?" He mumbled.

  
"What?" Ryan asked, stopping just behind him.

  
"Some odd people have come into the store..." The boy replied.

  
Below them, down by the entrance foyer, were five men. They were all dressed in business suits that had been torn and were stained with dried blood. Their faces were pale and their mouths were covered with blood. They walked slowly and stumbled as they moved. The men seemed to be searching for something and were emitting very loud, disturbing groans. The group individually found the escalators and shuffled onto the rising steps, gradually being brought up to where Ryan and his workmate were. The boy bravely walked up to the group of pale men who were now shambling towards him, groaning louder and stretching their arms towards him.

  
"Can I help you all?" The boy asked, scared.

  
The men groaned and started shuffling faster as they closed the distance between themselves and the boy.

  
"Stop! Don't come any closer!" The boy shouted as he slowly paced backwards.

  
The men ignored him and with surprising speed, the first man grabbed the boy by the shoulders, squeezing down with a vice like grip and pushed the boy to the floor. The other men bent down and joined in with the first as they opened their blooded mouths and began biting into his skin. The boy let out a high pitched wail as his blood spilled all over his clothes and the floor, spurting up into the mens' faces as they tore chunks of flesh out of the boy. They jerked their heads back with horrifying ripping sounds as the boy's desperate cries slowly came to a stop.

  
All Ryan could do was look on in horror as his workmate was torn to pieces and literally devoured before him. To his surprise, one of the men turned their head and blank eyes to him and stood up with a hungry groan. Ryan took a step back and knocked a CD case off one of the shelves, alerting the other cannibalistic men to his presence. The others got up and began the very same shuffle they had used before on his workmate, who now lay dead on the floor, his corpse torn open and still bleeding. As the men relentlessly shuffled towards him, Ryan continued to take steps back, his eyes scanning around him for some kind of weapon to defend himself with. Grabbing the first thing he saw, he threw a CD case at one of them, striking it on the head. The man stumbled slightly and continued to shuffle towards him. Ryan threw more CD cases but they mostly missed. The next one he grabbed, he decided to open and throw the actual disc. The disc flew quickly through the air towards the man's face, colliding with it and shattering on impact, doing only superficial damage to the man. By this time, the group of men had almost closed the distance between themselves and Ryan.

  
"Fuck this!" Ryan cursed loudly as he pivoted on the spot.

  
He quickly ran back towards the counter and jumped clean over it, his feet landing with a loud thud and sliding along the tiled floor into the room with the TV. Crouching down, Ryan unzipped a medium sized sports bag and produced a badminton racket. He stood up straight and glared at the pale, blood covered men who were groaning at him while trying to reach over the counter towards him. One of them succeeded, falling over it and onto the floor. This man now started dragging himself along the tiled floor, the blood on his clothes leaving a crimson trail on the white tiles. Ryan glanced down at the man with disgust, before bringing his black combat boot down on the man's neck. It snapped with surprising ease and the man ceased his movements. Ryan didn't trust the sudden stillness of the man, and jumped over him, landing on top of the counter. One of the men tried to bite him but he quickly snapped his foot up in a powerful kick that sent the man reeling back, falling to the floor. Ryan used this gap to jump down and smack the man on his left with the racket, sending him collapsing into one of the shelves, CD cases dropping to the floor. Ryan took a breath and gasped when a strong, blood stained hand gripped his left shoulder. In one swift movement, he spun round, using his left arm to make the man move to the side as he spun round, while his right arm came swinging round with the racket, smacking the man's rotting head with enough force to take it clean off. The skull rolled along the tiled floor, leaving blood trails behind it while white matter oozed out of the side where the racket made contact. The body slumped to the floor with a soft thud.

  
Ryan lowered his arms now that all the men were dead; taking deep breaths to slow his adrenaline fueled heart rate. That's when he noticed the smell of the dead men, the smell was almost overpowering. Looking closely at the bodies, he noticed how they had already been in a state of decomposition and tentatively touching one, noticed they were also freezing cold. Ryan was confused by this new information; these men had been dead when they came into the store, so how were they even able to walk around? It was like some kind of zombie movie. The more he thought about it, the more it made sense to him. These were zombies by respective definition.

  
"Could this really be happening?" He asked aloud to the deadly silent store.

  
That's when he heard it. That morbid chorus singing through the streets. The terrifying verses of explosions, gun shots, glass smashing and screams echoing all around. The city was falling apart in the chaos of the dead somehow rising and attacking the living. The only plan he could think of in his terrified mind was that he couldn't stay in the city. There had to still be a way out.  
Standing up, Ryan nodded his head to the corpse of his workmate and headed for the escalators. He intended to brave the streets and make it out alive, although he doubted the success he wanted being an easy reality.

_____________________________________________________________________

His hands were cold and sore from all the work. The warehouse had never installed heating in the two years he had been working in this job. Seymour Lance, by all definition, was a milkman. However after joking with friends one night, he referred to himself as "The Lord And Master Of Milk Transportation". This afternoon, however, he was not in much of a joking mood as he was tired from loading all the crates of milk into the back of his van. Soon he had to make the daily drive into the city to the various different supermarkets to deliver it. Seymour was 6ft 3 and broadly built. His black trousers and shoes were a typical contrast to his milk white overcoat and hat. This hat, probably the only hat in existence Seymour hated, covered his short ginger hair.

  
With a thankful sigh, the 21 year old finished loading his van and was about to close the doors when he noticed a crowbar lying on the floor. It hadn't been there before. Impatiently, he threw it into the back of his van and slammed the doors shut. With a yawn, he got in the front and started the engine, beginning the same journey that seemed to get longer every day.

  
As he drove, he put on the car radio, hopefully to occupy his mind and take some miles off the journey somehow. A song was playing on the radio at the time and it appealed to Seymour's music tastes enough for him to keep it on.

  
_"There's got to be some way out of here, said the joker to the thief,”_ The singer sang strongly, guitar rhythms playing in the background.  
 _"There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief!"_

  
Seymour was starting to enjoy the song when the radio hissed with static and changed, ending the song abruptly.

  
_"This is Sunnyside radio and we are sorry to interrupt your music. However, things have been getting worse here at the studio."_ The radio presenter announced.

  
Seymour was confused at this; he hadn't been listening to earlier broadcasts and had already noticed the road into the city was strangely quiet.

  
_"The studio is completely surrounded but we are going to stay on air for as long as possible!"_ The presenter announced confidently.

  
"Wouldn't it be smarter to try and get out if there's a problem?" Seymour asked aloud, shaking his head.

  
More music began to play on the radio, this time a soft piano tune slowly beginning. A soft voice began to sing.

  
_"Step one you say we need to talk, he walks, you say sit down its just a talk."_

  
Seymour smiled and put the radio volume up; the song being one of his favourites as he had already began singing along with the lead singer of the band.

  
Surprisingly, time had flew this time and he had reached the city, driving through deserted streets and despite his joyful singing, he was feeling rather creeped out by how quiet these normally busy roads were. Reaching the first supermarket, he parked his van just outside the supply shutters, which had been left open. This was confusing, as by law they had to be kept shut at all times except for deliveries. Shrugging his shoulders to this though, he opened the back doors of his van and began lifting the crates into the supply area. It was a monotonous task that he had performed hundreds of times by now but this time felt very different. The silence that was around him was unnerving him and giving him the urge to call out to see if anyone was actually around. Instead, he turned his van engine back on so the radio continued to play music, filling his surroundings with the tunes and blocking out his awareness of the silence.

  
Lifting out another crate of milk and placing it down in the designated area, that's when he realised the surroundings were no longer silent. The music had stopped and there seemed to be no radio for the time being, a problem in the studio most likely. There were distant groans floating in the air, reaching his ears with frightening ease. Seymour slowly turned round to his van and that's when he saw whom he recognised as supermarket employees. It was two men and one woman. One of the men had short black hair and wore thick-rimmed glasses. The other man had longer, blonde hair that sat on his head in a dishevelled mess. The woman had long brown hair that was severely displaced. There was something odd about them; they were walking slowly, as if with great difficulty. Their uniforms were stained with some dark red substance and their eyes were a ghostly white, accompanied with an unnervingly constant stare.

  
"Is everything all right?" He asked.

  
He gained no response except low, almost hungry groans from them. Seymour hesitantly walked up to one of them, looking them in the eye. That's when he was caught of guard as this employee, the woman with messed up brown hair lunged at him, forcing him onto the ground. She lay on top of him, trying to bite at his face and neck. Fortunately, Seymour's arm was against the woman's throat, trying to choke her but she didn't have any reaction, like she wasn't breathing at all. Using the size difference between them, Seymour pushed her off him and stood up, shoving her again as she came close again. Eyeing the van, with the door open and engine running, he planned to leave. These people seemed to be incapable of moving fast, so he quickly ran round them, making them slowly turn round to follow him. Once he was at the back of the van, he noticed the crowbar in the back. Seymour picked it up and raised it as a weapon.

  
"If any of you get too close I'll use this!" He threatened before walking towards the driver's door.

  
As he walked there, he tripped. Cursing to himself, he got back up, crowbar in hand and checked behind him. The same woman was almost upon him again, she groaned loudly and lunged for him so in one horrible reflex, Seymour swung the crowbar round and smacked the side of her head, caving it in. Blood splattered onto the side of the white milk van and onto his white overcoat. The woman's body slid against the van, leaving a thick trail of blood down the side of it before she came to rest on the ground, unmoving. Seymour looked down in horror at what he had just done. He never meant the damage to be that great, its like he didn't know his own strength. He looked at the crowbar in his hand with terror and threw it at one of the other approaching employees, striking the man with glasses in the forehead, causing him to fall back with a dull moan. Swearing to himself some more, Seymour quickly got into the driver's seat, slamming the door behind him and drove off quickly. The back doors of the van were still open but at this time he didn't care. He had to find someone to help him and take his mind off this sudden surge of guilt. Seymour, a 21-year-old milkman, had just committed a sudden act of murder. The radio was still on and had returned to the host of the station.

  
_"There is talk of a military quarantine on the city, unprecedented in all of Glasgow's history. At this time no one knows for sure what is happening."_ The host explained gravely. _"Some say its bio-terrorism, others say a possible accident or even a viral outbreak. The cause is not of concern. What is of concern, are the consequences. If the military can not do anything about it then God help us all."_


	3. Outbreak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be it by stroke of luck or destiny, the few survivors manage to find each other. A fleeting sensation of hope has been restored to their terrified minds, but not for long.

# OUTBREAK

His rapid footsteps echoed on the ground as he ran as fast as he could. Ryan had been running for longer than he ever had in his life, his right palm sweating from clutching the badminton racket so much. His breath was laboured from all the running. Its the only thing is mind seemed to be focussed on. Just running, running and running. It was all he could do as he knew if he stopped then those zombies would be onto him. They never moved fast but they didn't need to. If he stopped then a group would just seem to appear out of nowhere. However, his screaming lungs and aching legs told him he would have to stop soon. No one can run forever. Ryan slowed to a stop and leaned against an abandoned car, closing his eyes and trying to slow his breathing to a reasonable level, his heartbeat pounding so hard he could feel his skin of his chest move while the blood pressure banged through his forehead. The street was silent, which was eerie. Ryan had grown up with this city being a crowded commercial enterprise. This street would always be so packed you could never walk two steps without bumping into someone and now he was alone. All he could really hear was the faint sound of flames burning metal in a distant car. The wind blew newspapers past him; just yesterday a committed team had put it together and sent it to all the newsagents for it to be sold. Now, it blew down the street page by page, no one there to read it. Once his breathing had slowed down, Ryan looked inside the car he was leaning against and immediately wished he hadn't. Sitting in the driver's seat was the half devoured corpse of a young woman. Her stomach and chest cavity had been ripped open and most of the contents had been devoured leaving a large, dark crimson, pungent smelling hole in her body. The woman's neck had also been torn open, the blood stains on her top showing she had bled rapidly and hopefully died quickly. Her sky blue eyes were paralyzed with the same look of horror in them that they had when she took her last breath. Ryan turned away with a disgusted groan, coughing as bile rose in his throat. He cringed as he swallowed the acidic fluid back down into his stomach. It left a rough burning sensation at the back of his throat. That's when he heard them. The terrifying groaning and shuffling that he had been hearing for an hour now. The zombies had found him some how and as he looked around he was shocked by how many there were. They all seemed to be rising up from behind the cars as if they had been hiding there all along to let him catch his breath. They had him trapped; they were all around him and were slowly shifting towards him, crying out with hungry groans. Ryan wasn't prepared to give in.

  
"If you want to eat me, you're going to have to work for your meal!" He shouted angrily at the advancing corpses.

  
Ryan turned around and gasped in shock, a zombie was hurtling towards him faster than the others and before he could react, it had grabbed his shoulders and knocked him on his back. His body throbbed from the impact of the concrete on his back but his attention was focussed on the zombie above him, who was about to bite down. Ryan thrust his badminton racket in the way, causing the zombie to bite it. Its teeth scraped against it, generating a painful squeaking sound. Ryan grit his teeth as he fought with the weight of the zombie on top of him, trying desperately not to get bitten. The other zombies were closing in, he had to do something and it had to be soon. Ryan quickly lodged the badminton racket against the zombie's throat and straightened his arms out fully, holding the zombie away from him. Using this opportunity, he bent his knees and placed his feet on the zombie's stomach. With a grunt of effort he kicked both legs out, pushing the zombie off of him. Ryan jumped to his feet as the zombie stopped stumbling backward. Before the living corpse could react, its head was caved in with the very same badminton racket that had been keeping it from its prey. The body fell to the ground quickly. Ryan glanced around him at the approaching zombies and also at the blood stained badminton racket. There was no way he could fight them all and survive. He had to escape. Climbing on top of an abandoned car, he jumped down the other side of it and ran towards an old apartment building. He prayed in his head that the door wouldn't be locked. Something seemed to answer such prayers as the door opened for him on the first try. With a rush of relief he slammed the door behind him, this time making sure it was locked. To feel more secure, he jammed a chair under the door handle and silently apologised for any other survivors who try the door like he did.

  
Ryan turned round and faced the dark corridor of the building. Straight ahead it lead to another door, probably the backdoor and slightly to his left, there was a flight of stairs. Tightening his grip of the badminton racket, he chose to use the stairs. Ryan took them very slowly, one step at a time, always stopping to listen for any possible danger. Once he was half way up the stairs, his next step caused a loud creaking sound. He froze. His ears strained to hear anything. Something or someone would have heard that. Finally he heard what he expected. A deathly groan. Ryan's knuckles were white as he ascended the stairs, looking out for any possible zombies in the new hallway, which was just as dark as the first. To his surprise, there was nothing there. The hallway was empty. He jumped as he heard the groan again; it was coming from the door nearest to him. Ryan took in one, deep, shuddering breath and opened the door, shifting back with the racket raised in case anything jumped out at him. The sight that greeted him surprised him. Sitting in a chair, was some foreign man who was now a zombie. The man had been strapped down so he couldn't get out of the chair. His skin, which would normally have been a dark brown, was now lighter due to the infection. Ryan normally would have questioned why the zombie had been tied down and by whom but he decided it was best to close the door and continue searching the building.

  
Further down the hall there was another door. Ryan could hear some form of talking on the other side of it, recognising the voice he realised it was a television. Someone must still be alive. Excitedly, he opened the door without any sort of precaution and rushed into the room. He was disappointed however, as all he saw was a few empty glasses, chairs and an ashtray in front of the television. The room was dark, lit only by the light from the television that was on a news report. Whoever was here must have cleared out a while ago. Suddenly, Ryan's eyes picked up on one small detail that contradicted that assumption. A fresh cigarette was still burning in the ashtray. Someone was here. A sound echoed in the darkness. Thudding. The thudding of footsteps. Ryan was about to turn around but someone came up behind him, kicked his hand causing him to drop his badminton racket and then quickly restrained him in some kind of wrestling hold. He fought it but he couldn't break free. The lights came back on and two Albanian men stood before him. They both had knives drawn and guns tucked in their belts.  
The taller of the two men walked up to him. His accent was thick as he spoke;

  
"Who do you think you are? Coming into our place?" He asked.

  
"I was just trying to take refuge from those things outside." Ryan responded honestly, trying to hide the fear in his voice.

  
The man narrowed his eyes and spat on Ryan's face. Ryan contorted his face in disgust.

  
The man answered back; "You think that's an excuse to bring your filthy blood in here?"

  
Ryan growled in offence and retorted without thinking.

  
"Dirty blood? You're the fucking immigrants to this country."

  
The man growled in his own anger and punched Ryan, bursting his lip open with ease. Ryan exhaled a pained breath and glared at the man with utter hatred.  
_____________________________________________________________________

Vincent clutched the golf club strongly, the leather of the fingerless gloves making a slight noise as the material was tightened and moved. The shaft of the golf club vibrated as the strong metal head smashed open the skull of a middle-aged man in a business suit. His body fell to the ground as he issued one final moan before falling silent, blood pooling around his head. Many more moans signalled that he was not the only zombie that had found Vincent. The young man groaned with effort as he swung the club at the advancing hostiles. Their slow shuffling, outstretched arms and deathly moans making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Many of them were covered in blood and had horrible injuries to accompany their dirty and blood stained appearance. All their eyes were unnervingly the same. A deathly milky white. The other zombies continued to advance towards Vincent, turning into a small horde at an alarming pace.

  
"Should have stayed in the damn apartment." Vincent muttered to himself, regretting his decision to take to the streets.

  
Another zombie got too close, prompting Vincent to swing the golf club and crush its head in with the crimson stained head of the club. Suddenly, another zombie grabbed onto his shoulder, gripping it painfully tight through his leather jacket. Vincent quickly raised the golf club and thrusted the handle of it backwards. He got lucky as it had lined up with one of the zombie's milky eyes, slamming the eyeball into the back of its head, damaging the brain. The zombie fell back taking the club with it. Vincent turned and with a disgusted grimace, pulled the handle out of the cadaver's eye socket. Looking around he realised that he was attracting the attention of more and more of these walking corpses. He knew if he stayed he would die, as it took too long to kill each of them in close quarters to survive a group of them. Feeling his heartbeats pound in his forehead and his breath draw short from adrenaline, he decided that running was the best strategy. Finding an opening between two burnt out cars he took off as fast as his legs could carry him, jumping over dead bodies and various abandoned items. All he focussed on was running and jumping his way to somewhere safe, even though he didn't know if there even was such a place. As exhaustion began to eat at his muscles he slowed his pace to a brisk walk, deciding to cut down a narrow alleyway. There were three dead bodies in the alleyway with him. Two lying on the ground and the other was slumped against the wall in a sitting position. Vincent stopped to catch his breath when he heard a groan. Raising the golf club he looked around but couldn't see any zombies advancing towards him. There were a few in the streets but they hadn't noticed him. He heard some kind of rustling noise but still couldn't place it. A frighteningly strong grip on his ankle alerted him to what the noise was. One of the dead bodies was about to bite his ankle but failed as the head of the club came down upon its own with brute force. The body that was sitting by the wall was now behind him and stood up with a hungry groan. It lunged for him but Vincent quickly moved to the side, causing the zombie to fall forward and land on the ground. It started to crawl towards him, looking up at him with dead eyes. Searching desperately around him, Vincent noticed an outside staircase. Climbing on top of a large dustbin he jumped for the ladder, thanking his gloves for giving him the extra grip he needed on the cold steel. His arms burned from holding his weight so suddenly but the hungry corpses below him made sure he didn't let go. With a loud grunt he raised himself up and quickly grabbed the next part of the ladder. He continued this exhausting pattern until he could finally get one of his feet on the ladder as well. Vincent breathed deeply from effort and relief as he comfortably climbed the ladder up onto the platform it was attached to. Glancing down he saw several other zombies had gathered below all staring up at him with arms hopelessly outstretched.

  
Much to Vincent's surprise, one of the windows next to him was open so he cautiously stepped inside the building. The building was dark with wooden floors and very silent. He paced down the corridor very carefully with his golf club raised being very careful not to make any noise. Not knowing what could possibly be in the building with him unnerved him. The zombies were one thing but the creature that he encountered in the apartments scared him more. Vincent knew within himself that he survived the attack from that thing through luck and nothing else. He shuddered in fear at the thought of meeting another one in this enclosed corridor. It would tear him to shreds. As he continued down the corridor it became clear there wasn't anything nearby.

  
That's when he heard it. Talking. Living people talking. The conversation didn't sound pleasant however; there was aggression in the tones. This stopped Vincent from running down the corridor towards it and made him continue his slow pacing. Eventually reaching the end of the corridor, he opened the door slowly and only slightly. Vincent stayed silent as he observed the situation in the room beyond.

  
There was a man near the door with his back to it. Beyond him a taller man was aggressively speaking to a man about Vincent's age. The guy in question was dressed in black combat trousers, army boots and a black puffer jacket. His long black fringe hung over one side of his face leading down to a bleeding lip. A third man, who looked eastern European, was holding this young man in place. Vincent assumed the other two must have been of that ethnicity as well. The man in the middle of the room spoke again;

  
"For that insult, your life will end here." He said with a smirk. "I'm going to enjoy this."

  
Vincent knew none of the people in the room but the idea of three men attacking one was enough to spark him into action. Slowly opening the door he slipped into the room and raised his club silently. With one sudden, practiced swing he brought the club down on the first man, splitting the back of his head open with a loud crack. The man dropped to the floor with a slightly grunt of pain or shock.  
The man who had been talking spun round in shock at the intruder and took out a large blade. He tried to cross the room towards Vincent but Vincent threw his golf club at the man, causing him to halt. In that time, Vincent ran forward and kicked the man to the floor. Quickly jumping forward he stomped on the man's wrist, making him open out his palm. Vincent grabbed the blade and threw it across the room. He kicked the man in the side of his torso, breaking a rib or two and lifted him off the floor by his collar. Vincent looked into the man's pained eyes for a second before throwing him against a table, the wooden table breaking on impact and collapsing into a heap under the Albanian.  
The last man held onto Ryan strongly and stared confidently at Vincent.

  
"Come any closer and I will end his life!"

  
Ryan surprised the man by bending his knees, making himself drop to the floor bringing the man with him. At this moment Vincent ran forward and kicked the man right under his chin, breaking his jaw with an audible crunch. The man let go of Ryan to clutch his face and looked up at Vincent. He whimpered slightly before getting up and running out the room. Ryan and Vincent didn't need to watch to know his fate. Shortly after they heard the front door open and many hungry groans followed by the man's ear splitting screams as the zombies Ryan had left at the front door ate him.

  
The leader of the Albanians stood up slowly. He ran down the corridor that Vincent had come through originally. Ryan chased him despite Vincent's failed effort to stop him. Once the man had climbed out the window and onto the outside platform Ryan quickly jumped feet first through the window and punched the man when he whipped round to look at him. In one sudden act of cruelty, Ryan pushed the Albanian over the railing. With a loud scream, the man fell down into the alleyway, breaking both legs on his landing. The zombies in the alley turned their attention to him with hungry groans. The man tried desperately to crawl away but as Ryan re-entered the building he could hear the cries of pain as the man was eaten alive.  
Once Ryan came back to the room where he had left Vincent, he looked at him and asked one, sharp question.

  
"Who the fuck are you?"  
_____________________________________________________________________

Seymour was sweating with concentration and anxiety as he drove his milk van through the streets of the city. He had thought entering the city for help would have been a good idea but now he had been proved wrong. Whatever was going on had taken the city by storm. The streets were horrendous. Cars were abandoned everywhere with shattered windows and blood on the bonnets. Newspapers, briefcases, bikes and various other items littered the pavements and roads along with pools of dried blood and mutilated corpses. Some of the abandoned cars were still burning, the flames licking at the melting paint on their steel frames. Also in the streets were many people similar to the people he had already met. Slowly wandering around, groaning aimlessly. When he drove past they would try to grab the van and fail but this gave Seymour difficulty, as he did not wish to run them over. It was a challenge to his limited driving experience to be swerving past so many different obstacles. So far he had managed very well to drive through the streets in such horrendous conditions until a strange sight before him broke his concentration.

  
Up ahead there was a car that had somehow managed to end up on its roof. The glass around it seemed freshly smashed and there was a crowd of about thirty of the strange people all trying to get in the car. Strangely enough, none of them had thought to bend down and climb in the smashed windows. In the drivers seat the shape of a contorted, blood stained body was evident. Next to it, there seemed to be a living person. Seymour felt hope rush through his chest like a rising tide at the thought of finding someone who wasn't one of these strange shuffling hostiles.

  
Within such thoughts however, Seymour's attention on the road had lapsed and by the time he noticed a thick patch of what seemed to be oil or petrol on the road it was too late. His milk van’s wheels couldn't keep any grip of the road and due to the speed he was travelling at he lost control of the van as it tipped onto its side and skidded along the road. As it skidded through the oil, the intense friction and sparked set the oil alight. Seymour was lucky since his van quickly skidded out of the oil and continued to slam into the crowd that had surrounded the car. A large portion of the crowd were either flattened in a horrible bloody splat or sent flying through the air and away from the car. The fire that had started on the oil travelled the opposite direction towards an overturned petrol tanker that had crashed many hours before. Once the flames reached the tanker it exploded into an enormous fireball of flames and flying metal. Some of the sharper pieces of metal flew through the air and struck some of the zombies, killing them. For a few long seconds, the street echoed with ear splitting explosions as fire, glass and metal flew everywhere. The dangerous pieces of metal were crashing through shop windows, slamming into cars, impaling zombies and raining down on the already heavily littered road. A thick cloud of black smoke began rising from the blown apart tanker and into the skyline, darkening the area. Several feet from the scorching blaze, a banging came from the milk van that was now on its right side. With a louder bang, the left door opened and Seymour climbed out, perplexed by the scene before him.

  
The metal had stopped raining down on the street so Seymour felt it safe to leave the van. He walked briskly over to the overturned car and bent down to see who was inside. The man inside was indeed alive and had brown, buzzed hair. On his torso he wore a bloodstained white lab coat over a black jumper. Seymour couldn't see the rest of the man for now but as the man looked up at him, he offered out his hand to help him out of the wreck.

  
Mark looked at the young man kneeling down beside the car. He appeared to be a milkman. He was broadly built wearing black shoes and trousers while he wore a white overcoat. The man wasn't wearing a hat anymore so his short ginger hair was visible. The young man was holding out his hand, so Mark grasped it and allowed the milkman to pull him from the wreckage of the car.

  
Seymour looked at the man once he stood up. The man was older than him and to compliment his black jumper and white lab coat; he also wore denims and flame job high top shoes. He was certainly older than Seymour, possibly by ten years yet he stood three inches shorter.

  
Seymour was the first to break the silence; "I don't suppose you know what those things are?"

  
Mark looked at him and sighed; "They're dead bodies. Except they aren't fully dead."

  
Seymour arched his eyebrow and looked at him as if he was insane.

Mark noticed this and cleared his throat.

"I'm a pathologist. I'm as confused as you are." He replied strongly.

  
"Are they dangerous?" Seymour asked; he felt it was obvious but he had to be sure.

  
Mark didn't answer, he simply brought his Beretta M9 Inox into clear view.  
Seymour raised both eyebrows and nodded his head in a silent yes.

  
"So, do I get to know the name of my saviour?" Mark asked with a hint of sarcasm.

  
"Seymour Lance." Seymour replied; "And do I get to know the name of the man I saved?"

  
"Mark Nottingham." Mark replied with a satisfied smile.

  
"Well, if they are dangerous, we best stick together. Perhaps find a car." Seymour thought aloud.

  
"I'd rather avoid cars for now." Mark replied.

  
Seymour was about to ask why but he looked at the overturned Vauxhall, and then his own crashed milk van and kept silent.  
In that silence, broken only be the lick of flames close by, Seymour could hear lots of moans. They seemed to be coming from all around.

  
"I think we better get out of here." Seymour said, slightly nervous.

  
"Agreed." Was Mark's simple response.  
With that, the two men, now companions, took off on a speedy walk away from the wreckage and flames.  
_____________________________________________________________________

Ryan Gilmore intensely stared at the guy who had came in and saved him from Albanian thugs. He waited for a reply to his sharp-tongued question of who he was.

  
"Vincent Dominique." Vincent replied, staring straight back just as intensely.

  
"And why did you help me back there?" Ryan asked.

  
"I saw that they were going to kill you. I couldn't let that happen." Vincent replied.

  
Ryan softened his features. Now he was sure there was no danger from Vincent. He reached out his hand, offering a shake and introducing himself.

  
"Ryan Gilmore."

  
Vincent took the hand and they shared a firm handshake, made firmer by Vincent's leather glove.

  
"Kitty for short." Ryan continued.

  
"Kitty?" Vincent asked with a raised eyebrow and questioning stare.

  
"Yeah, it was my nickname. People say I'm like a cat." Ryan replied.

  
"I'll take your word for that." Vincent replied. "Where did you get that scar?"

  
Ryan rubbed his fingers against the scar on his face.

  
"My pet cat." Ryan replied with a laugh. "It was a mean kitty."

  
Vincent couldn't help but laugh at the almost child like quality of the conversation. Something very innocent about it despite the aggression and hate he had previously seen from the man before him. He could see where the kitty nickname could be coming from.  
That's when both young men brought their attention to the television in the room. Finding the remote, Ryan turned up the volume. The news presenter was a man in his thirties, bald and his normally smart shirt was dishevelled with his tie missing.

  
_"It seems that our worst fears have been confirmed. The infamous T-virus, manufactured by the Umbrella Corporation years ago has run rampant in the city."_

  
The man turned white as he spoke his next lines.

  
_"This virus incredibly reanimates dead bodies. They become cannibalistic and almost unstoppable. It is recommended that you make no attempt to reach others and stay somewhere that is securely locked and barricaded."_

  
Feeling the tension of those words leave him, he regained some of his composure.

  
_"We are now going to cut to a spokesperson for the British Military."_

  
The screen changed to what seemed to be the outer limits of the city. An enormous military blockade had been set up and in front of it, a heavy set man dressed in typical camouflage combat gear.

  
_"We cannot enter the city as even our forces would be overrun. All appropriate measures are being taken."_

  
A female voice from behind the camera spoke up with a question; _"And what advice would you give to those still alive in the city?"_

  
The military officer looked grim as he thought of his answer.

  
_"Those still alive should stock up on food, water and weapons. Find a safe, strong building and barricade it until our forces finally enter."_

  
The woman had yet another question for him.

  
_"And on the off chance of these infected people breaking through the barricade, is there any way to stop them?"_

  
The man took a deep breath through his nose.

  
_"Infected people are already dead because of the nature of the virus. The only way to stop them is massive trauma to the brain or the severing of the spinal column."_

  
The screen cut back to the original bald presenter. He started to speak but hesitated, the true nature of the situation starting to hit him.

  
_"To confirm that to our viewers. The attackers can be stopped by removing the head or destroying the brain. I'll repeat that. The attackers can be stopped by removing the head or destroying the brain."_

  
The man was sweating and used his missing tie that had been on the floor to wipe his brow. He straightened his posture slightly.

  
_"Reports have also come in about animal attacks and monsters. People have fled to temples, cinogogs and churches. May God be with us all."_

  
At that moment, the TV screen quickly snapped to black. Ryan had turned off the television and started looking around the room. He was being rather frantic, turning all sorts of items over and seemed to kick the table over for the hell of it.

  
"What are you doing?" Vincent asked with a confused sigh.

  
"Looking for a weapon." Ryan replied, not looking up.

  
Vincent coughed and brandished his golf club. Ryan looked up and rolled his eyes.

  
"A gun!" He exclaimed in exasperation.

  
"Those kind of things will be in another room probably." Vincent muttered before wandering through to the next room.

  
Ryan followed him with a grunt and after a couple minutes of searching all the various drawers, they came across a pair of silver .45 desert eagles. In the drawer beside this one, there were several boxes of .45 bullets. These Albanians had been well armed before their untimely demise. Vincent and Ryan took a gun each and split the ammo between them fairly.

  
"You ever had any experience with a gun before?" Vincent asked his companion.

  
"No." Ryan replied flatly. "You?"

  
"A little." Vincent replied. "Had no choice in certain African countries."

  
"This is a little different from Africa." Ryan commented with a smirk as he pocketed his ammo and held his gun ready.

  
"Yeah. The temperature is a difference." Vincent replied with a smirk of his own.

  
Vincent flicked the safety off the desert eagle and held it out in front of him, allowing the weapon's line of fire to guide his movements. He could hear the shuffling on the old wooden floor from the zombies who had came through the front door. The creaks and groans echoing through the otherwise silent building. He slowly edged towards the door and quickly turned the corner through it to observe the room with the television. The zombies were at the door in a small group of five or six. In a sudden decision, Vincent pocketed his gun and picked up his golf club from the floor.

  
"Why did you put the gun away?" Ryan asked, still aiming his own.

  
"To save ammo for more important targets." Vincent replied.

  
With that, he rushed forward and smashed open the head of the first zombie, which fell to the ground with a dull groan and a dull thud on the aging wood. The next two zombies both attempted to grab Vincent at the same time but he swiftly kicked one of them away and shattered the skull of the other. The one he had kicked rose back to its feet but quickly dropped again as Ryan forced a plant pot down on its head. Vincent advanced to another zombie and swung the golf club upward, connected with the zombie's chin. The resulting force sent the zombie's neck snapping back with enough force that it broke, causing the zombie to fall to the floor in silence. One of the two remaining zombies moved forward and grabbed Vincent on the shoulder's, its grip strong enough to make him grunt in pain as he fought to keep the zombie from biting him. On reflex, he made sure his forearm was against the zombie's throat so that it couldn't get its mouth anywhere near him. As he fought with this zombie, Ryan knocked the other one to the floor and smashed its head into a soup of blood, brain matter and bone on the floor after six strong hits from the now slightly bent badminton racket. Vincent held the zombie in place with his right forearm and quickly moved his left arm towards his right, breaking the grip of the zombie. As he turned, he passed the golf club to his right hand and just as the zombie turned back round to face him, he swung the club right round and straight into the side of the zombie's head. As the bloodstained cadaver fell to the ground, Vincent turned to Ryan.

  
"We should leave before any others show up." He suggested.

  
"You think?" Ryan sarcastically asked with a smirk.

  
Vincent smirked back as they both headed for the staircase.  
____________________________________________________________________

Seymour and Mark had been walking through the streets quickly but carefully. For the past half hour they had managed to avoid any encounters with zombies but they knew such luck would never last forever. They had not stopped moving since they left the wreckage of Mark's car because they knew if they stopped too long then the zombies would find them.

  
Once they had found a small, deserted street they stopped for a breather. A car nearby still had the radio on, the keys still in the ignition with the driver's dead corpse slumped over the steering wheel. The radio was on the same station Seymour had been listening to before he got to the city; Sunnyside radio.

  
_"If any of our listeners are still alive then please listen carefully."_ The man's voice announced desperately. _"There is a military blockade in the north of the city, it’s easy to find and should provide safety."_

  
Seymour and Mark both looked at each other, neither of them said anything but they both knew what the other was thinking. Without a word, they continued on with renewed determination. There was hope of safety. That hope was the only thing keeping the two from realising how bad things were getting. The city was degenerating rapidly because of this infection or virus or whatever it was. The zombie numbers were increasing and the chances of getting out alive were diminishing just as rapidly.

  
As they turned into an alleyway they stopped. The body of a man was slumped against the blood stained brick wall. His neck had been ripped open and the bloodstains were all down the front of his once clean, undamaged clothes. The most noticeable thing about this dead body was that there was a Heckler  & Koch USP Match handgun in his left hand. Since Seymour did not have a weapon and Mark did. He bent down and took the weapon from the man's hand. After checking the magazine, Seymour was fortunate to know that the gun was fully loaded. Once he reloaded the magazine, Mark shouted for him to turn round. The body behind him had stood up. Seymour quickly backed up a few steps, straightened his arm and pulled the trigger. The bullet went straight through the man's heart. The man just stood as he was and began to shuffle towards them. A sudden bang sounded and a bullet shot through the man's head, the body falling to the ground. Seymour turned round to see Mark with his Inox in his outstretched hands.

  
"Looks like the only way to kill these things is by shooting them in the head." Mark commented.

  
"That'll make aiming fun." Seymour replied, examining his new weapon.

  
"Don't get trigger happy then." Mark replied.

  
Mark then searched through his pockets and divided the contents equally. He handed half of these contents to Seymour.

  
"Ammunition, we best share it." He explained as Seymour had given him a questioning glance.

  
Seymour was about to thank him when they heard loud groans nearby. The gunshots must have attracted the zombies in the area. By the sounds of the groans, there were a lot of zombies closing in.  
The two companions took off again and headed for the northern points of the city, hoping they would find the blockade and safety.  
_____________________________________________________________________

"So where exactly are we heading?" Vincent asked.

  
He and Ryan had been walking for the last thirty-five minutes. The distance they had covered would normally have taken half the time but due to the multitude of debris and zombies they had to be very careful with where they went. Despite this, they had been making good time with very few zombie encounters. Of course, every encounter was a big problem but given the enormous population of Glasgow they had been very fortunate.

  
Ryan turned his attention to Vincent, who kept his golf club ready. "I heard on the news there is a military blockade nearby."

  
Ryan turned back and continued walking. Vincent followed but voiced his concern.

  
"What makes you think they are even still alive?" He asked.

  
"They have to be. If we can survive, surely soldiers can too." Ryan replied, turning into an alleyway.

  
The alleyway was dark. Bloodstains were on the walls with bodies and debris littering the ground. A couple metres away, the alleyway had a corner to it. Ryan slipped his badminton racket between his belt and trousers and pulled out his desert eagle. He gripped the gun with two hands and turned the safety off. Ryan held his desert eagle pointing upward next to his head, making sure he didn't have it pointing out from the corner. Vincent placed his golf club so it leaned against the wall and also took out his desert eagle. He held it in a similar fashion to Ryan and controlled his breathing.  
_____________________________________________________________________

Seymour and Mark had found a silent alleyway. However, the alleyway was dark and a little too quiet for their liking. So, the two kept their guns at the ready and edged along the wall. Mark was closer to the corner in the alley as he was going first. The two kept their guns pointing downward but held so they could quickly lift them up and shoot any threat. Their breathing was uneven. They could hear something. It was something moving but it was moving slowly, carefully. It reminded them of how a big cat would be seen slowly stalking its prey. They prepared themselves for anything and prayed these next couple of minutes would not be their last.  
_____________________________________________________________________

Vincent and Ryan kept their backs against the wall and slowly edged along it. They kept themselves at an even pace, in sync with each other. Ryan could feel the fear coursing through his body but he knew a frightened response would kill him in such an environment, so he had to be aggressive. Vincent too was afraid but for a different reason. Unlike his partner, he had encountered some sort of monster before he even knew of the zombies. He knew there must be more of those monsters and that very thought terrified him.  
Ryan turned his head to Vincent and made eye contact. He could see they were both as afraid as the other. With one nod, they decided to turn the corner.  
The two partners both quickly spun round the corner and brought their guns out. They were shocked to see two humanoid creatures do the exact same thing. The next thing they knew they heard a loud bang and the sound of a bullet connecting with the wall behind them. It was then they realised that they were not looking at humanoid creatures but actual living humans.

  
"Sorry" Seymour's voice sounded. Identifying him as the one who pulled the trigger and fortunately missed Ryan's head by an inch.

  
"Thank God, I thought we were the only people still alive." Vincent said with a sigh of relief.

  
"So did I." Mark replied to him, offering his hand to be shaken. "Mark."

  
Vincent shook hands with him, a smile on his face. "Vincent."

  
Ryan pocketed his desert eagle. "I'm Ryan."

  
Ryan then met eyes with Seymour. "And who was nearly my murderer?"

  
"Seymour." Seymour replied sheepishly.

  
"Look, not to be rude but we need to keep moving." Vincent announced. "We're heading for a military blockade, care to join us?"

  
"We're actually heading there too, so yes." Mark replied.

  
The four men smiled to each other, pleased to have the new company. Larger numbers meant a greater chance of safety in this nightmare like city. They were all thankful to know they weren't the only ones alive and it gave them hope that there might be other survivors out there somewhere. The only way of knowing was to find the military blockade.


	4. Blockade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeling overwhelmed in the streets, the survivors head into the Glasgow University for shelter, but safety is the last thing they find.

# BLOCKADE

Somewhere in the centre of the city was a large modernised building about ten stories high. It was a new build and was designed for the sole purpose of musical artists recording albums. It had many offices and of course many sound studios along with private rooms for the artists themselves. The walls were sound proofed and only the offices and artist rooms had windows.

  
In one of these many recording studios there were two busy people, despite the state of the city. Behind the soundproof glass of the recording area, where three microphones and various musical instruments were housed, a young, curvy built woman of 20 was standing behind one of the microphones. She wore converse shoes, with black leggings hugging her legs. On top of the leggings she wore a pair of dark blue shorts and above them, a black top was hidden by a loose fitting purple hoodie. Her eyes were a dazzling blue colour despite looking tired. Her hair was long at the back and sides but was eyebrow length at the fringe. Her hair colour was black but she had violet streaks through it to give it a flash of interesting colour. Her name was Bailley Gilbert and she was the latest young singing star.

  
One the other side of the glass, where all the equipment and controls were, a man in his forties sat in a black leather chair. He had a brown goatee and thick rimmed glasses.

  
"Richard, can't we take a break?" The woman asked with a whine. "We've been here since first thing this morning!"

  
The man looked through the glass at her, changing the options so he could be heard.

  
"We record this next song and I promise to get you something." He replied. "You're doing great, Bailley."

  
Before he got ready to record again, he got up and moved to the side of the room, where a radio playing the news sat. The newsreader was providing a warning that anyone still alive in the city should barricade their buildings and await help. He switched the radio off, sick of listening to all the warnings since morning. He grumbled to himself as he sat back down.

  
Richard began the recording and set up the music track so that Bailley could begin.  
Behind the glass, the girl began to sing, her voice hitting the perfect notes and echoing around the small chamber around her.

  
"Walking down the street and I hardly know you"

  
Elsewhere in the building, chaos was raining down as office workers and other staff screamed and ran for their lives as something attacked them. Bailley couldn't hear them and neither could Richard as he was recording her.

  
"It's like it was meant to be, holding hands with you and we're out tonight" She continued to sing.

  
Someone was desperately banging on the door of the studio but Richard ignored it. He growled under his breath about it being a hoax, lots of drug nuts running wild or something. The bangs eventually ended and he focussed back onto Bailley's song, which was coming to an end.

"Whenever I think about you... Whenever I think about you... Whenever I think about you"

The music slowly faded out as Bailley sang the last of the lyrics. She looked through the glass at Richard who signalled she could talk.

  
"Can we take a break now?" She pleaded.

  
Just as Richard was going to reply, the power cut out in the building. The two of them looked around in the darkness, wondering what had caused the power cut.  
Richard got up and walked out, heading down the corridor to the power room, to see if all the fuses had somehow tripped.

  
Bailley walked out the recording stage just in time to hear Richard's screams as something tore him apart. She ran back into the recording booth and closed the door. She waited. Looking through the glass for any sign of anyone coming in. She stood there, waiting. Straining her ears, Bailley could hear horrible sounds echoing through the building, glass shattering, people screaming, strange snarls and then just as suddenly as she noticed them, they vanished. A deadly silence hung in the air like everything had stopped.

  
A sudden bang caused Bailley to jump. The door to the hallway, the very door Richard had gone out and Bailley had forcefully closed was being battered by something. From the glass of the recording booth, she looked on. She felt a mixture of curiosity and fear surge through her. She was breathing deeply, trying to calm herself down. Bailley was expecting the worst, some man, or a gang of them with knives or guns battering the doors down and killing everyone.

  
The door banged again, this time visibly shaking on its hinges. Bailley began muttering a small prayer to herself, hoping it wasn't what she feared would be on the other side. She did not want to be brutally murdered or raped by a gang of thugs. A cold sweat ran down her brow at the very thought. The thought was interrupted by an enormous bang and then a crashing thud as the door broke off its hinges and landed on the studio floor.

  
Bailley bravely looked back through the glass of the booth to see who had come in. The sight that greeted her shocked her to the core and was far beyond her imagination. A large, snarling monkey with white hair and enormous fangs stood on the broken down door. Saliva and blood dripped from the creature's mouth as its strange cream coloured eyes scanned the room, its chest expanding and contracting rapidly with each sudden breath it took.

  
Bailley widened her eyes and shook with fear when the creature saw her through the glass. It slowly began walking towards her, its shoulder blades positioned high, ready. With a primal screech the creature lunged into the air towards her. Bailley backed up in fear, tripping over a cable and falling on her back. A loud thud echoed around her and was followed by another, smaller thud. She looked up and noticed that the sound proof glass withstood the creature's body weight, flooring the snarling beast. Bailley smiled in surprised relief as the creature got up and tried again, failing for a second time.

  
The creature was about to jump again but hesitated. Bailley looked on with curiosity and then gasped with frightening realisation. The monkey had seen the door to the booth and was preparing to ram that instead of the glass. Bailley ran to the door and leaned her back against it, hoping to fight off the creature. With violent force the creature slammed into the door, shaking both the door and Bailley's body with the impact force. The creature repeatedly rammed the door and it was growing clear to Bailley that the door would break down soon. After two more sickening bangs Bailley got up and rushed to the centre of the booth. At that moment, the monkey broke the door down and landed in the booth with her, growling. Bailley backed up in fear, looking around for a way past the monkey but there was no such path. The musical instruments surrounded her as the monkey approached her, preparing to pounce. Bailly could feel her heart pounding against her chest, threatening to burst out.

  
In a sudden movement, the creature screeched loudly and pounced into the air towards Bailley who grabbed a guitar and smacked the creature to the side. The monkey howled in pain as it crashed against the wall and struggled to get back up while Bailley ran for the door.

  
As Bailley ran for the hallway, the monkey pounced from behind. It didn't grab onto her as it had missed but it did hit her strong enough to knock her over. She desperately regained her footing and backed up against the filing cabinet as the monkey prepared to pounce again. When it did, Bailley swiftly ducked and caused the creature to slam into the cabinet behind her. While it was stunned, she grabbed the broken door and placed it on top of the monkey, stomping down on it to keep it dazed. Acting fast, she pulled the filing cabinet away from the wall before moving behind it. With a grunt of effort she pushed the cabinet over and stood back as it landed on the door, crushing the monkey beneath it.

  
Bailley stood where she was for a few moments, listening for any sign that the creature was still alive but found none. Then a small pool of blood slowly moved out from under the door, causing the singer to place her hand over her mouth in disgust. She slowly paced away from the scene of the creature's demise and entered the dark hallway. The lights were flickering violently and the eerie silence continued, interrupted by the occasional strange moan.

  
The building was a mess, glass, paper and blood littered the floor and walls. There was the occasional dead body and all the doors had been knocked down, leaving open entrances to dark rooms, the contents of which were now unknown. Continuing down the dark corridor, illuminated only by the sudden flickers of the lights above, Bailley's eyes scanned for any danger or weapons she could use. She stopped. To her right was a fire axe hanging in a box on the wall. Using her elbow, she smashed the glass and took hold of the axe, surprised at the weight of the blade.

  
The sound of the glass shattering under her elbow alerted something at the end of the corridor, panting breaths and rapid footsteps echoed towards her through the darkness. The lights flickered, showing another one of the savage primates walking towards her. Darkness. Her breath hitched in her throat as another cold sweat ran down her forehead. The lights flickered. The primate was ready to pounce. Darkness. Bailley backed up slowly, lifting the axe. The lights flickered. The beast lunged through the air towards her. Darkness. Bailley swung the axe to the side and hit the creature in the side. The lights flickered. The creature laid bleeding and dying on the floor from the deep axe wound in its side. Darkness. With her confidence growing, Bailley continued on through the corridor towards the stage so that she could leave this forsaken building.

_____________________________________________________________________

The street was silent. Flames licked at the burned chassis of the cars that littered the road. The road itself was covered in broken glass, bullet cases, newspapers and blood splashes. The occasional empty gun or knife also lay amongst the glass and blood. On this road, several zombies shuffled around aimlessly, groaning out as they did so. Their clothes revealed their former identities. These were the soldiers from the military blockade. Their cream coloured eyes looked on, giving an eerie feel to their expressionless, pale and blood stained faces.

  
The sound of approaching footsteps caused the zombies to turn with a groan and begin shuffling towards a new target. As one of the corpses turned, a brick slammed into its forehead, caving in the bone underneath and forcing the corpse to the ground.

  
"Good aim!" Mark exclaimed to the one who threw the brick, Ryan.

  
Ryan nodded in thanks before picking up another brick to launch at one of the other zombies. However, this brick sailed through the air and flew past the zombie's head by a mere inch. Ryan cursed under his breath.  
Out of nowhere, a knife shot through the air and embedded itself in the zombie's forehead, causing it to collapse to the ground with one last dying groan. Vincent retracted his arm after having thrown the knife. The final zombie had its head caved in by Seymour’s crowbar.  
Around the small group, there were many other zombies but none of them were close enough to be a major threat for the time being. The group checked to make sure none of the corpses lying on the ground were dormant zombies and started searching the blockade for ammunition and supplies. Anything that could be of help was a necessity.  
Mark checked the cars for any radios and exclaimed when he found one. However, his excitement was short lived when there was nothing but static on all of the frequencies.  
Ryan picked up one of the assault rifles, an SA80 and practiced aiming with it.

  
"These guns should come in handy!" He exclaimed, not even checking the status of the gun.

  
Vincent looked beyond the blockade at all the bodies lying on the ground, all the bullet casings littering the street.

  
"I'm guessing they're all empty or close to it." He replied to Ryan with a grim expression.

  
With depressing realisation, Ryan checked the magazine feed and discovered that Vincent was right. Observing the other abandoned weapons, he noticed they were most likely the same. He sighed. The city was in ruins, there were no laws, no police and no order. Even so, nothing was going right or working out for them to cope with the situation better. He had to wonder, was this the end? Were the others being hopelessly optimistic in the face of what could only be described as an apocalypse? Ryan's life had always been handed to him, or so his closest friend had once told him. He thought about that. His closest friend. Ryan hadn't thought of him until now and lowered his head as the depressing assumption hit him. His friend was most likely dead. They all probably were. It was then he heard it, waking up from his thoughts he saw Mark's frightened face shout at him before he felt two stiff hands grasp his shoulders, pushing him forward as the weight of a body pressed into his back. A sickening smell coming from it. In his daze, his reactions were slow and he couldn't defend himself. He knew what was coming, a set of teeth were going to lock down onto his neck. Before this could happen, a loud bang shot out and he felt something wet splash against his face. The stiff hands left his shoulders as the body fell behind him, crashing its damaged head against a car. The car's alarm started screaming at the contact, the sound echoing all around them. Despite the wailing car alarm, Ryan was still in a daze, numb to everything around him. Vincent stood ahead of him, his desert eagle smoking from the gunshot. He saw the others all calling out to him but he couldn't understand them. Ryan was quickly snapped out of his daze when Vincent marched over and slapped him across the face, yelling at him.

  
"We need to go now!" Vincent shouted. "That alarm is going to attract every zombie for blocks!"

  
Ryan, now understanding everything that was happening, nodded and ran with them. They didn't care about the noise of their running as the car alarm was deafening in comparison. Not only were they running away from danger, from a military blockade but they were also running away from the only hope they had.

_____________________________________________________________________

The group had stopped running a while ago and were now at a brisk walking pace. Despite trying to move as fast as possible they still had to be careful as the streets were littered with debris, corpses and the ever present threat of the zombies. It was something out of a twisted horror movie or nightmare. All this time the group had been silent. Vincent, who had been leading the group, was still angry with Ryan. For all the aggression he had shown earlier, it made little sense that he had just zoned out the way he did and nearly got himself killed by a neglected zombie. What happens if no one else is around? This was one thought but the mortality of everyone was put in question. Despite the risks in his past, working with reptiles the size of crocodiles, Vincent had never felt truly afraid for his life. Now, it seemed like anyone could die at any time given the right combination of bad luck, timing and danger. One thing he resented was how some of the group seemed to be taking things a lot lighter than they should. Mark, the man who had appeared with his large ginger companion who had almost killed Ryan, had gained confidence around these zombies. None of them realised there were greater threats hidden in the city, such as the creature that nearly claimed his life in the hotel. He knew he was lucky that time. Next time, he might not be so lucky. He had not told the others of that encounter because he knew they wouldn't believe him. Although as things were getting worse he feared he might have to break the bad news to them and further crush their hopeful spirits.

  
He was brought out of his thoughts by the ginger man, Seymour. The milkman was holding his crowbar, his gun tucked away in his belt. He tapped Vincent's shoulder and gestured to a large, impressive building. The windows had been boarded up, the fresh wood contrasting to the ancient stone that the building had been constructed with.

  
"Someone might be in there." He suggested. "Looks strong as well, we need a break."

  
Vincent nodded in agreement. He lead the group over to the doors of the building, realising it was the University of Glasgow. Reaching the large front door they all noticed, unsurprisingly that the door was locked. However, peering through the keyhole Vincent noted there was nothing barricading it on the other side. Vincent tried to break the lock by kicking the door. Despite the strength of his kick, it accomplished nothing as the thick wooden door remained firmly closed and locked. A hand on his shoulder pushed him out of the way before Seymour kicked the door. A loud crack was heard as the wood around the lock splintered and the door swung open.

  
The group piled into the school and closed the door behind them, finding a case full of trophies and stacking it against the door. It would take a lot of force to knock the door open with that behind it. Now that they were all in the building, they took a breath. Mark and Vincent slumped against one of the walls. Ryan sat down on one of the benches in the hallway and felt the blood against his face. His expression contorted to disgust as he looked at the blood on his fingertips. He needed to wash it off. As he observed his hand, he noticed that he was shaking. Nearly dying had a distinct effect on him and he was very shaken.

  
Seymour didn't seem ready to rest and after catching his breath, tightened his grip on the crowbar.

  
"We need to make sure this place is safe." He pointed out, preparing to continue down the hallway.

  
The others nodded to him and stood back up. Seymour led them down the corridor. The floor was smooth and masked their footsteps allowing them to listen out for any sounds that could be the undead. The building did seem secure and within the darkened corridors and rooms there was silence. Not trusting in the silence, Vincent kept his grip on the golf club firm and kept a sharp lookout for anything that might jump out at them. Mark kept his Beretta Inox pointed ahead of his vision, also considering the possibility of meeting survivors. The whole building was silent, too silent for the liking of the group. Slowly opening doors all they would ever find was an empty room. The rooms seemed undamaged, no blood, no zombies and no abandoned work.

  
"Sort of odd that there's no sign of life in here." Ryan commented, a little more aware again.

  
"Not really." Mark replied, keeping his voice low. "They closed the schools when they knew something horrible was happening."

  
Ryan digested this point for a little while, his shoulders relaxing from their previously tensed position.

  
"Then there shouldn't be anything in here." He reasoned with optimism.

  
Vincent interjected quickly with one question. "Then who locked and barricaded it?"

  
This question hung in the air and allowed a tense silence to fall among them.

  
As they continued on, Ryan started to fall behind in his walking pace. He wanted to get the blood off his face; the sickening sensation was driving him mad. He could feel the blood drying and sticking to his face, disgusting him. His arms and legs felt heavier and heavier from fatigue and disgust. Ryan continued to observe his surroundings, looking for a kitchen or a bathroom somewhere so he could use some water to clean his face and hands. The darkness of the corridor seemed to stretch on into an infinite black silence due to his fatigue. The rest of the group continued on in front of him, too focused on potential dangers to realise that he was falling behind. The school was unnervingly silent given the situation. No groans of the undead, no talking from survivors and no signs of activity except for the doors being locked and the windows being boarded up. Vincent led them round the corner, heading off to the right. This new corridor was aligned with classroom doors, giving him reason to stop for a moment to signal to the others to be extra careful when checking the rooms. After turning back round, he started to carefully walk down the corridor, unaware that Ryan had chosen to go left.

  
Ryan’s desire to find somewhere to wash his face was overpowering as he was still in shock from nearly being bitten and killed by a zombie due to his own blunder. He advanced down the corridor on his own, deeming the place safe after waiting in vain for something to happen since they came in. The zombies at the front door were probably gone by now, something else having taken their fancy. He relaxed; they were now in a building that was structurally a fortress, the perfect place to be in a horrible situation like this. Stopping to check a door, Ryan sighed with relief as he noticed it was the school kitchen and rushed in after taking a quick glance for any threat. He stopped at the nearest sink and ran the hot water but to his disappointment it ran cold. The electric heating must have been off. Regardless, he started wetting his face and scrubbing the blood off with a nearby sponge. The sound of the water hitting the metal basin drowned out any other sounds within the room, allowing something to enter the room and make its approach.

At the other side of the corridor, the rest of the small group entered one of the classrooms; Mark went first and stood in the doorway with his gun pointed ahead of him as his eyes scanned the room. It was dark like all the other rooms and just as silent. A sudden crash startled him, causing his body to jump in reflex as his eyes darted to the source of the crash. A beaker had been knocked off one of the desks by a pigeon. Observing the bird, he noticed it was feeding on the flesh of the corpse that was slumped over on the desk. He took a step forward, alerting the bird to his presence, causing it to take flight and rush out the hole in the boarded up window nearest to it. He relaxed and closed the door. It appeared the place was safer than they had first thought. That was until Seymour’s voice called out from the far end of the corridor. Mark and Vincent quickly made their way to his location to see what the problem was. Their eyes followed along his arm and along the crowbar he was holding out to the window across from him. There was a large gap in the window, the glass was smashed and the broken boards lay on the floor beneath it. Something was in the building with them and it was something strong. That’s when Vincent realised Ryan was missing and just before he could announce it to the others, a gunshot echoed through the empty corridor.

Ryan jumped as the zombie’s body dropped to the floor after the bullet left the back of its skull. He turned to his left and came face to face with the barrel of a SIG-Sauer GSR Revolution handgun. He put his hands up, praying to God the owner didn’t pull the trigger. He couldn’t remember when but he had closed his eyes as he waited for his death. It didn’t come. He opened his eyes and looked past the gun, his eyes falling upon a young man, probably of a university student. The young man was dressed head to toe in black. He wore a black sleeveless top under an unbuttoned black shirt and had a metal pole tucked into the belt that held up his black jeans. His black hair was very short at the sides but in the centre was longer and gelled up slightly. His eyes were an electric blue and glared at Ryan with ferocity. He never lowered his weapon, despite knowing Ryan wasn’t bitten and wasn’t one of the undead.

  
“Get out!” Came the stern, sudden command.

  
“What?” Ryan asked, confused.

“I said get out!” The young man answered, pressing the barrel into Ryan’s forehead.

“Lower the gun, now!” Vincent’s voice bellowed from the doorway.

  
The young man turned to face him but kept his gun where it was.

  
“Get out now, all of you!” He commanded. “And take the zombies who followed you with you!”

  
At that moment, some of the various boarded up windows smashed as arms started forcing themselves through the gaps in the wooden boards.

  
“They can’t get in here and this place is big enough for all of us.” Seymour tried to reason calmly.

  
“Do you understand English?” The young man retorted. “I said get out!”

  
He turned his attention back to Ryan long enough for Seymour to cover the distance between them. Seymour forced the young man’s arm down and grabbed him by the collar, slamming him against the wall behind him.

  
“People are dying, the city has gone to hell and you want to act like a high and mighty fucking idiot?” Seymour exclaimed, all his patience gone. “We all need each other and we need cooperation!”

  
The young man attempted to remove Seymour’s hand from his collar but couldn’t match the ginger man’s strength. He snarled at Seymour.

  
“I’m better alone!” He responded, glaring into Seymour’s eyes.

  
“There’s a big fucking hole in one of the windows, meaning something got in. Meaning your wooden boards didn’t hold it back like they hold back those zombies.” Seymour exclaimed angrily. “And you want us to leave?”

  
The young man opened his mouth to respond but Seymour interrupted, tightening his grip on the young man’s collar.

  
“Now is not the time for you to be stubborn and proud, otherwise you’re going to experience a lonely, agonising death!”

  
Seymour let go of the young man and took a few steps backwards, joining the others near the doorway. The young man adjusted his collar and looked at them before sighing.

  
“Before the power to the building went out, the television announced that the military blockades had failed. They had to do the same as they did with that Raccoon City in America and put an extreme quarantine in place. None of us are going to survive this, so what does it matter if I stay here alone?” He questioned with a cynical smirk.

  
“There’s always a chance, so we have to try.” Vincent reasoned in response.

  
The others nodded in agreement but were startled by a crash in one of the nearby rooms.

  
“What was that?” Ryan wondered aloud.

  
“The things that made the hole your friend shouted to me about.” The young man answered, turning round to face the far side of the kitchen, his gun drawn.

  
They all waited in silence, holding their breaths. Another crash soon followed, this time closer to the kitchen door before they could hear the faint sound of hissing and growling. No zombies made such noises but Vincent recognised the sounds. They reminded him of the encounter in the hotel that nearly claimed his life and this very fact scared him. By the sounds of the approaching footsteps on the tiled floor, there was more than one of those strange creatures on their way to the kitchen. Everyone tensed when a shadow was cast across the glass of the far side door. A couple dull thuds sounded from the other side of the door followed by silence. Suddenly, the door came crashing off its hinges as a tall reptilian creature just like the one Vincent encountered before burst into the room. Behind it, two others stepped in, hissing and growling as they observed the room. The group gasped in shock, gobsmacked at what they were seeing. The creatures seemed to communicate with their hisses and growls, clearly demonstrating pack hunting behaviour as they became aware of the group on the other side of the room. The young man took a couple shots at the first creature but the bullets had little effect on the rough scaly skin of the reptilian monster. The creature let out a shriek and ran at him, attempting to slash him with its large claws. Fortunately, the young man managed to get out of the way, rolling over one of the counters just in time, sending pots and pans falling to the floor.  
The others eyed the creatures, all their weapons at the ready but their attention was captured by the young man who had already got back on his feet.

  
“Leave now; I’ll close the door behind us!” He shouted to them, running for the door.

  
The group unanimously agreed with him and rushed out the kitchen, hearing the doors slam behind them. The group ran down the corridor, not looking back until they had reached the end of the corridor, being wary of the zombie hands reaching through the gaps in the boards. Once they checked their surroundings, they realised the young man wasn’t with them. He had left them behind. Ryan was about to go back but Vincent grasped his shoulder. Ryan looked at him, looking for an explanation but Vincent only shook his head slowly and turned back to the main door.

Back in the kitchen, the young man made sure the door was kept shut by locking it with his metal pole. The creatures had him cornered and jumped for him. He took a chance and dived forward, somehow avoiding them and rushed for the gas powered cookers, turning them on. He ran the length of the kitchen, turning them all on as fast as possible while taking pot shots at the creatures to hold them back. Once all the gas cookers were on, he took a box of matches out of his pocket and got them ready. He could have tried to run away but with three of these agile creatures he knew he would never get far. The best he could do was make sure he killed them. The creatures advanced towards him slowly, seemingly understanding that their prey wasn’t going to get away of them. The young man smirked and lit the match.

The group heard something similar to an explosion and when they looked down the corridor, they saw a wall of flames burst through the jammed doors of the kitchen, the smell of burning meat was carried through the air as the fire intensified, setting light to the boarded up windows and burning the arms of the zombies. Deeming the burning building unsafe, both due to the fire and because of the attraction it would receive from the undead, the group made their quick but careful way out onto the street. Fortunately, most of the undead in the area were already at the university and were too focused with the windows to notice them slip by. Some zombies did notice them but were avoided easily enough to save ammo.  
Further down the street, the smell of burning was still very strong thanks to the wind that swept down the street. The wind also carried newspapers and other light materials and objects down the street. One of these objects hit Ryan on the back of his head, causing him to flinch as it was hot. He turned round and bent down to pick it up from the road’s surface. The plastic cover was badly burnt, but the paper inside had so far been preserved. He was shocked to see that it was a student ID. It belonged to the young man. Ryan looked at the others silently as they stared back, waiting for an explanation. Ryan let go of the ID and let it get carried away by the wind before looking back at the burning university.

  
“His name was Adrian.” He said finally.

  
No other words needed to be spoken.

**It’s still rather slow because the good stuff is yet to happen. There will be a hint of such good stuff in the next chapter. Reviews give me motivation, so please review and let me know what you liked or didn’t like.**


	5. S.W.A.T

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Running low on ammo and willpower, the survivors get a lucky break when they come across a well armed, well trained and well prepared S.W.A.T team with a plan and the mad determination to carry it out. Can they succeed?

# S.W.A.T

The lights on the grey concrete ceiling came on with a sudden flash, illuminating the cold grey and white hallway below. The hallway stretched out with bullet proof, one way glass on one side of the hall and high security containment cells on the other side. Footsteps echoed down the hall before stopping in front of a thick lead door. The shadow that was cast upon the door by the lights belonged to a tall, muscular man dressed smartly in a suit and tie with sunglasses hiding his eyes. The cover on the top centre of the door was pulled open to reveal a small viewing window. The light from the hallway shone through the window, partially revealing the man inside. The light only revealed from his black boots up to his chest. The man sat with his ankles shackled and his hands clasped on his knees, handcuffed. He didn’t move or make any sound. As he peered through the glass from outside, the tall suited man pressed a small green button on the wall, turning on the intercom system.

  
“Do you know why you’re here?” He asked calmly, without any distinctive accent to his voice.

The man in the cell responded only with silence.

“A man of few words, I see.” The other continued; “Mr Mystery.”

The shackled man continued his silent response.

“Of course, you go by a different name, don’t you?” The man continued in vain.

Despite the silence, the suited man continued. He knew he wasn’t being ignored. He tried a sympathetic approach.

“You’ll have to forgive the security measures.” He appeased. “But please, take them as a compliment. You are more dangerous than the usual occupants of these cells.”

The silence continued, uninterrupted.

“I’m not your enemy, my government ties are what allowed me to find you. You are very valuable.”

The man kept his composure, despite the prolonged silence beginning to irritate him. He needed to get the man in the cell to talk to him.

“I understand the past few years have been difficult for you, having nowhere to go. This is why I’m here.”

Even this wasn’t enough to illicit a response. He cleared his throat and decided to try one last time.

“I have a mission for you and you alone.” He announced.

Movement came from the shadows. A stubble chin was now visible in the light. The man in the cell was staring through the glass, waiting. The suited man smirked.

“There has been a viral outbreak in a European city. It’s Raccoon City all over again. I want viral samples and complete access to the city’s CCTV feeds.” The man explained. “Can I count on you to complete this mission?”

The man in the cell didn’t move. His answer was calm and certain.

“Always.” He replied.

With that the door to the cell was opened, the hinges whining under the lead weight. Now only the man’s face remained in the darkness as more light streamed in. The suited man threw a big, round object at the man who caught it without fault. The object was a black helmet and gas mask. The lenses were crimson and reflected the man’s firm, determined glare. Seconds later he put the helmet on, now breathing through the filters at the front. Then a set of keys were thrown to him so he could free himself from the shackles. Once he had done so, he walked out of the cell and observed the tall man before him, waiting for directions.

  
“You shall be briefed on the plane.” The man told him, gesturing in the direction of the hanger.

  
The other nodded before heading down the hallway, his black boots creating loud footsteps to echo around them.

  
“One last thing!” The suited man called out.

  
The soldier stopped and turned to stare back through the crimson lenses.

  
“Welcome back, Mr Death.”

The group of four made their way down the street. They were in no hurry as they had managed to avoid most of the undead for the time being and had found a quiet area of the city. The lack of zombies was probably because of the explosion at the university, the sacrifice the young man named Adrian made so they could get out alive. The desolate street gave them little comfort as it only served as a constant reminder of the living hell the city had become. Small fires burned furiously at the road side and bigger fires illuminated the street from burning cars, casting shadows on the ground. Newspapers, litter and scraps of personal belongings such as bags, abandoned mobile phones and broken glasses were scattered across the street. The only sounds in the cool air was the soft scrapes of paper on concrete as it blew in the wind and the distant yet sickening groans of the undead. The group travelled in silence, no words needed to be said and there was the ever present fear of alerting any nearby zombies to their location. One thing plagued the minds of all four members. It was getting dark. The light from the clouded skies was starting to fade and with it came the whole new danger of being outside after dark. They would have to find somewhere safe if they wanted to survive the night.

  
A sharp noise startled the four young men out of their thoughts. On top of an abandoned car, the windows all smashed in with blood covering the hood, was a crow pecking at a dead corpse. Having seen the group, the crow squawked repeatedly before flying off. The corpse that had been left behind was a sickening sight. One of the legs had been ripped off leaving a horrible blooded wound on the end of the stump that was left with the jeans in shreds. The main chest cavity had been ripped open and appeared rather hollow after a zombie had feasted on it. After the crow’s visit, the eyes and most of the flesh on the face were now missing. A little further down the street past the corpse was an overturned lorry blocking the road, the far ends of the lorry crumpled and dented against the walls on either side. The shattered glass from the broken windows was sprinkled on the ground around the cabin, covered in dried blood. The contents of the lorry were scattered around it, most of the contents were crates and boxes as well as smashed bottles and crushed cans.

  
“Looks like we need to find a way around” Ryan commented with a sigh.

  
Before anyone else could answer a chorus of deathly moans sounded from behind them. Rotting, blooded bodies wearing shredded and blood stained clothes started coming round corners from walls and behind abandoned cars. The sound of banging came from the cabin of the lorry signalling that the driver had reanimated inside and wanted out. Like something from a horror film their numbers continued to increase with a couple of them having been set ablaze by the raging road side fires. The four young men backed up before reminding themselves of the overturned lorry blocking their way. They would have to go back through the crowd of hungry corpses. One of the zombies stumbled quickly over to Ryan, stretching its arms out to grab him before receiving a strong kick to the chest that sent it falling back.

  
“So… Does anyone have any suggestions?” Mark asked nervously, still subconsciously backing away from the oncoming zombies.

  
“Yeah!” Vincent answered loudly, pulling out his Desert Eagle and shooting the closest zombie in the head. “Don’t miss!”

  
Seymour shot a couple zombies before spotting a nearby alleyway that they could get to if they ran. “Let’s clear a path to the alleyway!”

  
Upon realising his discovery the other three young men concentrated their aim on the zombies obscuring the way to the alley. This came at the price of having the other zombies quickly closing in. Once the zombies had come within lunging distance the four young men sprinted for the alleyway, narrowly avoiding the swaying arms of the hungry corpses. The zombies groaned out as they failed to catch their fleeing prey. Any zombies that got in the way of the group were simply shoulder barged out of the way to conserve ammo.

  
Once they reached the alleyway they were fortunate to not have any zombies blocking their path. They ran as fast as they could down to the end of the alleyway only to realise the end of it was fenced off. The zombies had already started to stumble into the alleyway making it impossible to go back without being eaten alive by the sea of cannibalistic cadavers. Seeing only one possible option, Ryan jumped and started climbing the fence as it wasn’t very high. He stopped once he had one leg over, aiming his desert eagle on the other side in case there was anything waiting for him. Luckily, there wasn’t, allowing him to jump over. The zombies were closing in surprisingly fast as the others made their way over the fence just in time to avoid the horde of flesh eaters.

  
The group of four stopped for a moment to catch their breaths but instantly regretted it when they realised they were down wind. The stench from over fifty walking corpses seeped through the fence, causing them to recoil in disgust, covering their faces. It was then that they heard banging. They turned their attention to the fence that was now shaking violently with each bang. Near the middle of the fence the wood was starting to splinter and crack.

  
Vincent turned away from the fence and tried to open the door of the building next to them. The door had been locked as no amount of fiddling with the handle would get it to open. Suddenly the fence smashed into splinters as the zombies came crashing through it, groaning and wailing as they caught sight of their prey once again. Ryan looked behind them, only to see that an overturned bus blocked the exit to the alleyway, leaving them trapped.

  
“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He cursed, backing away from the shambling zombies.

  
“Oh fuck it!” Vincent shouted and kicked the door, breaking the lock, causing the door to swing open and bang against the inside wall. “In here, now!”

  
The other three ran in after him, not caring about what was inside the house for the time being. Once they were inside, Seymour and Vincent held the door shut, yelling at the other two to find something to barricade it with as it shook from the zombies attempting to gain entry. The barricade came in the form of a smashed trophy case and a couple chairs. The banging continued, despite the shaking being heavily reduced by the weight now keeping the door closed. The group moved away from the door, trying to stay as quiet as possible in the hopes the zombies would lose interest before they eventually broke in. They silently decided it was best to explore the building they were in for supplies and potential threats then find another exit. 

They kept their guns carefully aimed ahead of them as they slowly walked along the corridor leading away from the door they had barricaded. The floor was wooden and creaked from each footstep as they made their way down the hall. The building was dark, either the electricity had gone off or no one had turned on the lights. The cause of the darkness wasn’t the problem but the prospect of what lay waiting in the darkness was. The group made their way to the closest door, not saying a word to one another in case they ended up speaking over any noises that could reveal a potential danger. As he grabbed the door handle, Vincent pressed his body against the door and aimed his gun parallel with the door so he’d have a good chance of shooting anything that lurked behind it. He carefully pushed the door open, moving with the door and peered into the darkness. The silence was only broken by the gentle squeaks of the door as it moved on its hinges and the distant groaning and banging from the zombies at the barricade. Vincent peered into the darkness, straining his eyes to see if there was anything in the room. Without warning two cold, stiff hands shot out from the darkness and grabbed his shoulders. He tried to move back but the dead weight grasping onto him hindered his movement as a lifeless face and blooded set of teeth came reeling towards his neck. Vincent acted fast and jammed his forearm under the zombie’s neck to prevent it from biting him and shot the zombie in the temple. The dark blood splattered across the wall as the body fell to the floor with a lifeless thud.

The sound of shuffling feet could be heard from within the darkness, prompting Vincent to close the door over again in the hopes the zombies wouldn’t escape. Out of curiosity, he checked his ammunition. Having been forced to reload earlier after being surrounded in the street he was running very low on ammo for the silver desert eagle in his hand. Observing the gun in his hand made him realise his hands were shaking and his breath was laboured. Adrenaline and fear was pumping through his body and he had hardly been aware of it until now. A hand on his shoulder made him jump, snapping his head round to the action. However, this hand was softer and belonged to Ryan.

  
“You ok?” Ryan asked softly, so as to not startle Vincent or to make too much noise.

  
Vincent ran a hand through his hair and nodded his head before turning and leading the others down one of the other corridors of the building. The corridor itself was long and dark with blood stains painting parts of the floor a dark crimson. At the end of the corridor there was a set of doors with light streaming through the glass panes at the sides of the door. Hoping to be a safe exit, they group increased their pace towards the door but were stopped when a ventilation cover randomly fell to the floor. Dangling through the gap from the ceiling was what appeared to be a woman’s body. The clothes were shredded and barely hanging on at all. The skin was crimson and the hair was falling out. Her arms had bizarre brown spikes growing on them and her nails appeared to have become claws. Her milky eyes glared at the group as she whipped her surprisingly long tongue at them. The tongue whipped around with speed and ferocity and was easily over a metre long. The strange female creature let out a loud rasping sigh as it tried to attack the men in front of it.

  
Vincent aimed his desert eagle at the creature but before he could pull the trigger the monster’s tongue smacked it out of his hand. The tongue then curled around his wrist and pulled him closer with surprising strength, the open mouth displaying two rows of razor sharp teeth. As he got closer the creature’s hands started clawing at his jacket, tearing at the black leather as the creature continued to rasp and hiss at him. He fought to get free but couldn’t seem to pull the powerful tongue off of him.

  
Suddenly, a powerful arm wrapped around him from behind as a USP Match handgun came into view and shot the tongue. The bullet sliced through the tongue, causing the creature to wail in pain as the tongue was severed and Vincent was freed. The two men fell back as another shot was fired. The time the shot came from Mark’s Inox which sent a bullet rocketing straight into the creature’s forehead. The female monstrosity’s head snapped back from the force of the bullet impact before falling from the ventilation shaft and onto the floor in a lifeless heap. Now that the legs had been revealed they could all see that the feet had been mutated and resembled hands. This explained how it had been dangling from the ceiling in the first place.

  
Vincent stood up and thanked Seymour for his assistance. He swung his arm back and forth slowly to make sure none of the muscles had been pulled too badly in the struggle. As he did this, Ryan walked past him to the door and put a hand on one of the handles.

  
“Ready to try our luck outside again?” He asked.

  
Vincent and the others nodded. Vincent, Seymour and Mark aimed their guns as Ryan opened the door in case any zombies had been attracted by the noise they had recently made. The doors lead them out into a street. Burnt out cars were piled up on top of one another in the aftermath of some horrendous collisions and consequent fires. The group wandered between the cars, trying to get their bearings but it was hard due to the chaos and destruction around them.

Once they made their way round an overturned bus they discovered they were in George Square. It was a large rectangular plaza, distinguished for the old buildings around it and the memorial statues that stood within it. It was hard to tell if it was planned or by chance that there were pile-ups of cars on all four sides of the square. All the metallic wreckage made it difficult to access the centre of the square. As they made their way around, they were stunned by the sight and smell that greeted them. A revolting smell of rotting flesh filled their nostrils that originated from dead bodies that were scattered all around the area. All of them had died the same way; a bullet to the head. The ripped and blooded clothing indicated that these were the bodies of zombies that had been wandering by here before meeting a rather skilled marksman.

  
They approached the centre of the square in time to see a lone zombie fall to the ground, a fresh bullet hole in the already rotting skull. They all raised their hands and stood still, trying to show to the marksman that they weren’t zombies. In the centre of the square there were some tents, two large SWAT vans and a large construction of scaffolding standing on its own. The scaffolding was at least seven stories high and obviously served as a lookout point. They could make out the shape of a man with a sniper rifle on top.

  
“You can put your hands down now.” A gruff voice came from one of the SWAT vans.

  
The small group turned and saw a tall, broadly built man leaning against one of the vans. He wore the classic SWAT gear, dark underclothes, black combat boots, black knee pads, a black bullet proof vest and black fingerless gloves. He wasn’t wearing a helmet so his greying brown hair was clear to see. The small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes showed he was in his early forties but his powerful build showed he was still capable of anything he had to do. On his thigh, a gun holster carried a two-tone Beretta M9 and in one of his hands he held an M4A1 Carbine assault rifle with a tactical light mounted under the barrel and an EOtech sight at the top of the gun for more deadly aim.

  
“I am Captain James Bishop, the leader of the Special Weapons and Tactics team put in charge of taking back George Square.” He introduced himself, stepping away from the van. “As you can see, that plan went to shit.”

  
Mark took a step forward for the first time in a while.

  
“I’ve heard of you. I work for the Strathclyde pathology department.” He explained.

  
“I’m surprised to see any survivors at all.” James replied. “We figured most people would be dead by now.”

  
“We haven’t met any survivors except from ourselves.” Vincent confirmed.

  
“Care to introduce yourselves?” James asked with a simple wave of his hand towards the group.

  
Vincent nodded in response. “Yes of course. I’m Vincent and this is Ryan, Mark and Seymour”

  
He pointed to each member of the group as he introduced them, with each of them giving a wave or gesture to confirm their identity.

  
“Above us on the scaffolding we have our sniper, Jonathan Muertiro, or “Deathshot” if you prefer.” Bishop explained.

  
Above them, Jonathan gave a thumbs-up before returning to his sniping. His weapon of choice was a KAC SR25 sniper rifle with a bipod attached. To help his aim the rifle also had a SWFA super sniper scope and to avoid any unnecessary noise, a suppressor was attached to the end of the barrel. In case of emergencies, his side arm was a fully automatic two tone Glock 17 with an extended, thirty-three round magazine.

  
“Inside the van is Samantha Anders.” Bishop introduced. “She’s our tech expert.”

  
Inside the van, working on some kind of radio device was a young, attractive woman with brown hair that was tied up into a pony tail. Like the others she was dressed in SWAT gear with her main weapon, an MP5 A5 with a flashlight attachment hanging by her side via a shoulder strap. The holster on her thigh sported a Beretta PX4 which also had a flashlight attachment.

  
From around the side of the van another SWAT member with messy, ear-length dyed black hair appeared. He carried a Benelli M3 Super 90 shotgun with a flashlight attachment mounted on the top of the barrel in one hand. Inside the holster on his thigh was his side-arm of choice, a two tone Beretta M9 with a laser sight under the barrel. A cigarette stuck out from between his lips as he used his free hand to flick open his lighter and light the cigarette before pocketing the lighter.

  
“Shit man, you found survivors?” He questioned, his pronunciation hindered by the cigarette between his lips.

  
Bishop gave him a nod before turning back to the group in front of him.

  
“This is Scott Williams; his volatile personality is only matched by the explosions he loves to set off.” He explained with a smirk.

  
“Survivors?” A voice boomed from inside one of the tents.

  
Stepping out of the tent, another member of the team presented themselves. This member was a very tall black man, his impressive height and muscular build making him the biggest individual person there. His hair was short and black with a peculiar white stripe dyed down the middle of it. In his holster rested an AMT Hardballer Longslide pistol, easily recognised for its long barrel. In his hands he carried the biggest weapon of all the team members, an M249 SAW Paratrooper light machine gun.

  
“That is definitely not police issue!” Mark commented with surprise at the large weapon.

  
Bishop grinned with amusement, obviously having expected such a response.

  
“Gordon Walker here said the guns we gave him were too small.” Bishop explained. “So he raided the military supply from their abandoned stations just down the road.”

  
Gordon gave a hearty laugh, drumming his fingers against the barrel of the light machine gun.

  
“So long as I’m here, you all ain’t got nothing to worry about!” He declared with a grin.

  
Unnoticed by anyone around, Seymour rolled his eyes at this. He strongly disliked anyone with an inflated ego or arrogance of any sort and it was clear this man saw himself as a one man army.

  
“And last, but most certainly not least, is Caelian Winchester.” Bishop introduced, gesturing to the group’s left.

  
When they all turned, they saw the final member of the team on the roof of a car, kneeling down on one knee while looking out for any threats. Like the others he had a tall, muscular build and wore the SWAT uniform. His hair was short and brown with no distinct style intended. A Beretta M92F Elite was tucked away in his leg holster as he looked through the TA31 series ACOG sight of his Colt AR-15 Law Enforcement Model 6920 Carbine. The weapon had also been customised with a Pentagon MD3R flashlight attachment on the side of the barrel and ERGO rail covers. He took his focus away from his gun and looked down at the group with a hardened expression. His eyes darted across every face, as if memorising them before he settled on one face in particular. Caelian then turned back to his aim, observing the streets for any more zombies before speaking.

  
“Been a while, Seymour” He announced. “Didn’t expect to see you alive.”

  
The rest of the group turned to their tall, ginger companion who was narrowing his eyes at the kneeling SWAT team member.

  
“Nice to see you too, Caelian.” He answered, a slightly bitter tone to his voice.

  
“Can you blame me? You are a milkman after all.” Caelian answered, looking back down to him.

  
“Because people are judged by their jobs, right?” Seymour retorted.

  
Before Caelian could answer back, a female voice dominated the air from further away.

  
“Leave him alone, Caelian.” Samantha interrupted. “You should be happy to see an old friend.”

  
Caelian sighed in defeat; “Yeah Sammy, you’re right.”

  
“Of course I am” Was her reply before she disappeared behind one of the vans again.

  
Caelian watched her walk away with a raised eyebrow, a part of him annoyed that she could control him so easily but the rest of him grateful that no one else really could. Without saying anything to the others he jumped off the car and went after her.

“You two obviously have a history together.” Vincent commented to Seymour.

  
“We went to school together.” Seymour answered, watching Caelian walk away.

  
“You’ll have to excuse Caelian’s attitude.” Bishop stated, walking up to the group. “He’s a good kid.”

  
“I just hope he’s a good shot.” Ryan commented with folded arms.

  
“Believe me, he most certainly is.” Bishop replied with a smirk. “If any of you are hungry or need a place to rest, make yourselves at home.”

  
“That’s very kind of you” Mark answered, accepting the offer with open arms.

  
“Just don’t get too cosy here. We’ll need to move out soon.” Bishop explained, his tone now serious.

  
“Why? You seem to have things locked down here.” Ryan observed.

  
“That we do but before the radio communications stopped working, we overheard some unsettling news at one of the military stations.” Bishop answered, glancing in the direction of the station.

  
“What sort of unsettling news?” Seymour asked, his attention now back with the group.

  
“The military know that they can’t fight this virus. They have a planned napalm strike and general bombing of the city scheduled.” Bishops explained grimly, running a hand through his greying hair.

  
“Scheduled for when?” Vincent asked, taking a step forward.

  
“About 36 hours from now.” Bishop answered. “But it could easily be sooner.”

  
“Can we even get out of the city? Surely they would have it totally quarantined by this point.” Mark added in, deepening their doubts of survival.

  
“Our plan is to leave through the train lines. The trains won’t be running due to the quarantine.” Bishop answered, studying their faces. “We only hope there’s space for us to slip past the quarantine.”

  
“Why do we need to sneak past them?” Ryan spoke up, genuinely confused. “If we see the military, won’t they take us in?”

  
“The risk of infection is too great so chances are they have orders to shoot anything that comes out of the city.” Bishop replied, looking in the back of a truck for supplies.

  
“So we could be heading towards a firing squad?” Ryan retorted. “Fuck that!”

  
Vincent walked past Ryan to look in the back of the truck as well. After a moment he brought out a small, black flashlight and checked to see if it was working. Once he confirmed that it worked, he pocketed it and turned back to Ryan.

  
“Risk getting shot to death or eaten alive.” He commented, checking how many rounds he had left in his Desert Eagle. “Your choice.”

  
From behind one of the SWAT vans, Samantha Anders returned with a box for the group.

  
“As I’m sure you’re coming with us, you might want to try these.” She offered, placing the box down to reveal its contents.

  
The box was full of gun holsters of different types and sizes along with ammo pouches. Words didn’t need to be spoken as the four young men started pulling out the holsters and trying some on. Some holsters went round the waist, others around the body and others around the thigh. Once everyone had a holster that was comfortable for them, they began searching the other vans and tents for ammo and other supplies that could be of use.

  
Vincent noticed that one holster was left over, it was intended to go around the body and hold a shotgun on the user’s back. He didn’t have a shotgun or any big weapon but following his intuition he decided to take it anyway. As he clipped it on, the SWAT member Deathshot, called out to them. From the same direction as the group of four had come from a massive horde of zombies was starting to take over the street. Bishop quickly barked orders for them to close and secure the entrance to their blockade and keep their eyes opened and their safeties off in the event that the zombies decided to gather and break through the blockade.  
Caelian returned from wherever he had wandered off to and climbed back onto the roof of a car so he could look at all the rotting faces of the hungry corpses. He stared at them for the longest time as if he was committing their faces to memory or trying to recognise individuals. His attention then switched to the surrounding area and the blockade itself.

  
“Getting out of this city is going to be a lot harder than we thought.” He commented, more to himself than anyone else as the hungry groans filled the air, the only noise overpowering the dead chorus being the banging of stiff, cold hands on metal.

**Please leave a review if you’ve read this far and remember, flames will be used to cook my waffles.**


	6. Trauma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HUNK enters the city...

# TRAUMA

HUNK entered the enormous and dark government hanger. Men in dark military suits were everywhere to be seen, operating machinery, observing things from platforms high above the ground or simply patrolling the area with their hands resting on the grips of their guns. All of them were serious and focussed as the professionals they were. There was no time for joking when they had work to do for their boss. HUNK considered who their boss could be as he had never seen the man before in his life but quickly shrugged off the very thought. Being on a mission was much better than being locked away in that dark cell. He stopped walking for a moment to study his transport for the evening. The plane in the centre of the hanger was much bigger than he had expected and was triangular in shape. Unlike the stealth bomber, the plane appeared to be a perfect triangle with no gaps to separate the wings from the fuselage. The shape of the metal panels that formed the exterior of the aircraft ensured that radar would not detect it when it was airborne.

HUNK walked round to the back of the plane where a large ramp had been lowered from the bottom of the fuselage to allow entrance into the aircraft. Without any further hesitation he walked up the shiny metal ramp and boarded the giant black triangle. Inside the plane one of the soldiers in black stood waiting for him. The man stood perfectly straight with hardly any movement, almost as though he didn’t need to breathe. Dressed in the black military outfit, with a bald head, a scar over one eye and a stern expression he looked like an angry statue. None of this intimidated HUNK.

“What is the mission?” HUNK asked, his voice slightly obscured by his gasmask.

“Sit down and prepare for take-off.” The fearsome man barked. “You will be briefed when we are in the air.”

HUNK did as he was instructed and observed things through the red lenses of his mask as he waited. A soldier on the hanger floor made a brief hand signal to the bald man inside who pushed a small black button on the wall. With a hydraulic hiss the ramp swiftly closed and locked. The soldier then knocked his fist against the cockpit door twice and took a seat, strapping himself in with a two belts that crossed over his body. HUNK made sure to buckle up in a similar fashion while he waited silently for the plane to take-off.

From beneath their feet, a gentle hum quickly grew into a rumble as the lights inside the plane went off and the hanger doors opened. The aircraft softly rolled out of the hanger and onto the runway. There was a momentary pause for the pilot and co-pilot to make their final checks before the engines were put to full throttle and the plane lurched forward as it started to speed down the runway. Once it hit the necessary speed the front of the plane pulled up and it shot high into the air. The aircraft didn’t stop its ascent until it was above the clouds and it was only then that it levelled out.

“You have four mission objectives. If all four are complete then you shall receive an immediate extraction.” The bald soldier barked. “If you have any difficulties you will receive no help and will be forced to wait until 0500 hours for extraction.”

HUNK sat in silence as he committed every detail to memory for later use.

“The primary objective is to collect DNA samples of all available Umbrella B.O.Ws that reside within the hot-zone and to infiltrate the HIVE laboratory to steal any remaining viral samples.”

HUNK reflected for a moment as he had never expected to deal with any of Umbrella’s creations after the fall of the company in 2003.

“Secondary objective is to hack into the city’s CCTV cameras so we can document combat data.” The bald officer continued. “Third objective is to eliminate any Tricell operatives that may have been sent in to retrieve data and samples.”

HUNK was not one to question his mission directives and simply kept a silent note of each objective.

“The final objective is to eliminate former Umbrella employee Albert Wesker who is trapped inside the city.”

HUNK nodded in confirmation, he was ready to complete all objectives and come back alive, the very actions that granted him his legendary title of Human Unit Never Killed.

The bald soldier pressed a button on the wall. A section of the wall opened up to reveal a weapons case with a vast assortment of guns.

“Select your weaponry and prepare for your jump.” The bald officer concluded.

HUNK unbuckled from his seat and studied the weapon case. After a few moments of thought he took a combat knife, some grenades, a Heckler & Koch P8 handgun as a side-arm and a Steyr TMP modified with a fixed stock, fore-grip, sawn-off barrel and a PEW laser sight box. He made sure to grab plenty of ammunition for both weapons before making sure everything was holstered and secured correctly. As he walked back to his seat he collected a parachute and strapped it to his back before finally sitting back down. He sat in silence and mentally prepared himself for the mission ahead.

 

The banging of metal and the smashing of car windows echoed around the area accompanied by the constant chorus of undead groans and hungry rasps from the large horde of zombies on the other side of the blockade. The newly formed group of civilians and the SWAT team observed the shambling sea of blooded mouths and tried to come up with a plan to get out of the square.

“I take it those noisy fuckers are friends of yours?” Scott asked the four young men sarcastically, taking his cigarette out of his mouth a moment to blow out some smoke in the zombies’ direction.

“Yeah but they don’t play nice.” Vincent retorted with a smirk.

Seymour looked around them for any other options but the only one seemed to be the way they came in which was now completely blocked off by the starving corpses.

“Trying to go out the way we came is suicide.” He commented to the others with a shake of his head.

“This is why you should consider using the back door.” A voice came from behind them with a slight Spanish touch to the accent.

They turned round to see Jonathan Muertiro, Deathshot, standing behind them with his sniper rifle in his hands.

Scott studied him with narrow eyes, his view slightly obscured by the smoke from his cigarette.

“John? I thought you died or something.” He commented with mock surprise. “I haven’t seen you in days!”

“You do know smoking kills, right?” Jonathan retorted to his long haired companion who merely snorted in amusement.

“Enough!” Bishop barked at the two of them. “You said something about a back door?”

“Yeah, up the back there we’ve got an overturned car resting against a bus.” Jonathan explained. “We could climb up and break into one of the buildings from the roof of the bus.”

“Sounds as good a plan as any.” Mark commented, walking in the direction indicated by Jonathan. “Not like we have much choice.”

A loud scrape was heard from the front of the blockade. One of the overturned cars had moved a little from the force of the zombies behind it revealing that the groaning corpses could actually make it through the barricade given enough time. This caused a unanimous decision among the group who all made their way to the back of the area to the car Jonathan was talking about.

When they made it round it was clear that it was their best escape route. A double decker bus had crashed into the wall of a building with a small car having crashed into the side of it. Somehow in the chaos of the outbreak a larger car had flipped over and jammed the front of its bonnet into the top row of bus windows while the smaller car kept it supported. It only looked stable enough for one person at a time.

Mark made the swift and brave decision to be the first one to attempt to cross the precarious ramp. With a held breath he walked over the car’s exposed underside and up onto the roof of the bus without incident. When he looked back he noticed with horror that the zombies had finally got past the barricade and were beginning to pour into the square. He pointed this out to the others, forcing them to make haste with their crossings. This took time as only one person could cross at a time and the zombie horde was closing in. Fortunately the shambling corpses didn’t move fast and had only reached the newly formed group when the last person, the large Gordon Walker, was crossing. Just as Gordon stepped foot on the roof of the bus the car behind him gave way, slamming down onto the roof of the car below before letting out an agonising screech of metal sliding against metal as it slipped off the roof and onto the ground. The zombies crowded around it, their arms reaching up into the air in a vain attempt to grab a member of the group as they let out ravenous growls and groans of hunger.

The group walked along the roof of the bus and entered a building after smashing a window. They entered the dark, abandoned office building with their guns at the ready. The SWAT team members turned on their flashlight attachments and made a protective formation, keeping the four civilians inside their circle as the progressed through the building. The corridors appeared to be silent in the first few moments but small sounds from inside the offices could be heard. The rustling sound of paper being stepped on, the occasional low groan and the sound of liquid dripping on the floor were signs that the group was not alone in the building. With practiced speed the SWAT team guided the group further down the hall, any zombies that were near the office doors were gunned down with quick headshots. The loud echo of the gunshots travelled down the corridor, alerting all the other zombies and brought them out of hiding allowing the group to dispatch them easily enough.

For once, the four young men were starting to feel safer. They were now with an organised team who could mow down a group of zombies without trouble and run them through situations that would take them far longer to get through if they were on their own. They knew the danger of the zombies and anything else in the city was still there but it was much safer to be in a well-equipped group than alone. Once they reached the end of the corridor, they opened the large doors at the end that lead to the stairwell. The SWAT members at the front checked above and below in the darkness before leading the rest of the group up the stairs towards the roof. It would take time to get to the top.

 

Black magnum combat boots stepped between pools of blood in the dark alleyway. Just above the boots, blue jeans hugged the legs of the man as he carefully checked each corpse in the alleyway for signs of reanimation. A Silver Ghost handgun was kept aiming at the heads of each corpse before relenting. All the corpses were dead and would remain that way. Suddenly, a sharp ringing sound came from the pocket of the brown fighter jacket. The man took out the device the ringing was coming from and flipped it open to be greeted by a young woman with glasses.

“Leon, how’re you holding up?” The woman, Ingrid Hunnigan asked through the video link.

“I’m on my own; the minister was dead by the time I got to him.” Leon S Kennedy replied with a shake of the head, his fringe swinging in front of his right eye at the action.

Hunnigan sighed with regret. “Okay, I’ll send in the report. I suggest you get out of the city as soon as possible.”

Leon shook his head again. “Can’t do that yet, Hunnigan. I heard gunshots nearby, there could still be survivors.”

Hunnigan glared at him. “Leon, your mission was to extract a VIP. Not rescue civilians.”

“I know that but I was in their position back in Raccoon.” Leon answered sincerely. “Not a moment went by when I didn’t ask for some kind of help. I can’t leave them.”

Hunnigan sighed, knowing she wouldn’t win this argument. “All right but you need to be fast. Orders from above are to destroy the city soon.”

Leon nodded and closed the device before putting it back in his pocket. He took out his gun again and made his way towards the distant gunshots.

 

The group made it up the staircase without any problems except for the odd rotting corpse that had been left by whatever killed it. Caelian kicked the roof door open, breaking it off its hinges as someone had locked it from outside. At the sound a lone zombie let out a groan and started to shuffle towards them before taking a bullet to the head and dropping to the floor. The SWAT team kept their weapons aimed as they double checked the roof for any other threats before lowering their weapons and focusing on how to get across to the other building. It had been decided that going by the rooftops was ultimately safer than down on the street as it warranted less attention from the shambling cadavers on the streets.

Fortunately for the group, the large satellite tower on the roof had fallen down in the chaos somehow and created a bridge between the two rooftops. Before they even considered crossing it, Bishop drew their attention to the skyline. The sun was disappearing and darkness was creeping over the city. Black smoke from distant fires added to the darkness as the sounds of the occasional explosion, gunshot or last desperate scream were the only things that broke the deathly silence that had befallen the once busy city.

No one said anything about the state of the city or the survival chances of the other survivors who were fighting for their lives. The group simply focused on the task at hand which was crossing over to the other building via the fallen satellite tower. Just like with the bus, they opted to go one at a time with the ever present reminder that if something went wrong and the fall didn’t kill them then the zombies below would.

Yet again Mark was the first to try and cross. His movements were very careful and slow as he had to keep his balance on the metal bars of the tower. There were plenty of gaps that his feet could fall through and knock him off balance. He was so concentrated on making it across it surprised him how quickly he had made it to the other building without any problems. The next ones to cross one by one were the SWAT team members. This took time and even more so when there would be a hesitant stop caused by the sound of creaking metal, warning that the tower could collapse or break at any moment.

The next to cross was Ryan who was visibly nervous from the look on his face. He wasn’t a big fan of heights and it was that fear that made his journey across much more difficult. The sounds of the metal creaking and scraping against the side of the buildings didn’t help either. Much to his relief he made it across without incident leaving only Vincent and Seymour to cross. Vincent was quick but careful, figuring that the structure was safer than they all believed after so many of them had crossed but his heart stopped when he felt it drop a little. To the naked eye it would be hard to spot the difference in its position but Vincent had felt it. He was frozen on the spot, scared that if he moved it would fall into the alleyway below. He took another tentative step towards the other building and prepared himself to jump for it if he needed to but the need never came. The tower continued to support him without any further movement allowing him to cross safely to the other side.

Seymour was the last one to cross and he too tried to be quick but careful. When he had steadily made it half way across there was a loud creak followed by a scraping sound. One side of the tower was scratching against the side of the building as it began to collapse. Realising that he only had seconds to spare, the large man ran across the beams of the tower praying that he wouldn’t make a mistake and lose his footing. With the sudden movement the tower groaned under the strain as it collapsed faster. Suddenly it gave way completely, forcing Seymour to jump forward with all the power in his legs that fortunately carried him onto the other rooftop just in time. The tower crashed down into the alleyway below, squashing some of the zombies that had been shambling through it.

Seymour was breathing heavily from the fear and adrenaline as he was helped to his feet by Vincent.

“I didn’t know you could move so fast.” The shorter man commented with a relieved smirk.

“Neither did I.” Was Seymour’s response, also with a slight smirk teasing the corner of his mouth.

“Let’s keep moving, the noise will have attracted more of them.” Bishop commented.

There was a silent agreement to this and the group returned to their original formation of the SWAT members surrounding the civilians as they entered the new building. The stairway was dark and silent. They turned their flashlight attachments on and continued down the stairs, always trying to look as far ahead as possible should any zombies jump out of the darkness at them. What they did notice was that all the corpses that littered the stairwell and hallways appeared to have been decapitated but there wasn’t much blood on the walls which meant that the corpses had been zombies at the time of decapitation.

The group tried to make it further down the building but one of the walls had caved in and had destroyed the rest of the stairwell. This forced the group to enter the main areas of the office building where the surroundings were much the same as the last building with long corridors and offices along the length of them. The silence cut through the air like an omen. Every member of the group was confused by the total silence and lack of zombies.

They were brought out of their thoughts by a sudden noise. A door opening. Everyone kept their guns ready for what was about to emerge from the darkness of one of the offices. The figure that emerged was human and was carrying an axe. The light from the flashlight attachments on the SWAT members’ guns revealed the blood stains that covered her clothes as Bailley held her hand in front of her face to cover her eyes from the lights.

Bishop lowered his gun so that his flashlight wasn’t shining in her eyes. He ignored a muttering from Deathshot about being surprised at finding a female survivor and decided to check that everything was as it seemed.

“Are you injured?” He asked, not lowering his gun completely.

“No.” Was Bailley’s simple answer, her eyes still squinting from the flashlights.

“Are you alone?” Was Bishops next question as his eyes scanned the area behind Bailley.

“Not anymore.” Bailley answered with an irritated tone.

“Then you best come with us.” Bishop told her. “It’s not safe to be alone.”

“A group of men?” Bailley retorted. “I don’t think so.”

Before Bishop could answer such a blunt statement Sammy stepped forward from the group to approach Bailley.

“You’re not the only woman here.” She said with a gentle tone and soft smile, trying to calm the situation.

“And you trust these men?” Bailley questioned incredulously.

“I’ve known my team for years.” Sammy answered calmly. “And the other guys don’t seem too bad.”

Bailley averted her gaze, inwardly desiring to be anywhere but there at that moment.

Sammy stepped forward some more and took Bailley’s hand in her own.

“Whatever happened to you, you need to let it go.” She said carefully. “Otherwise you’re going to die tonight.”

Bailley looked back round, staring into her eyes. She was undecided whether to be angry or upset but it was clear that confusion was the prevailing sensation welling up inside her.

“Just stick close to me, okay?” Sammy told her with a soft smile, trying to give her some comfort and reassurance.

Bailley simply nodded although she was still very reluctant to become part of the group.

Sammy then pulled Bailley’s hand out and placed a SIG-Sauer P226R in her hand, which Bailley looked at with even more confusion. She could feel the weight of the loaded gun in her hand and it was a totally foreign feeling to her. For the first time in her life she was holding a gun. In her hand was the power to easily take a life. Although she wasn’t sure if she could see it as that because the dead appeared to be walking amongst the living and ravenous monsters prowled for human flesh.

“I’ve never used a gun before.” Bailley whispered to her in hesitation.

“Hopefully you won’t need it.” Sammy answered. “But if you do, just point, pull and repeat.”

There was a cough as Scott spoke up from within the group.

“Are you two ladies going to have a coffee break or are we going to keep moving?” He asked sarcastically to show his impatience and irritation.

Sammy shot him a glare before guiding Bailley into the group’s formation so that they could continue on through the dark and silent building.

An alarm sounded in the plane, prompting HUNK to stand up and prepare for his jump. The back door of the black stealth plane opened up as strong winds blasted around HUNK. Even from there he could see the chaos of the city with the flickering lights, fires and black smoke. Without any hesitation he ran forward and jumped out of the plane before plummeting downward as the door behind him closed and the plane disappeared into the night sky.

HUNK continued to plummet towards the industrial district just outside the city. From what he could see through the red lenses of his gas mask there were no zombies in this particular area. Once he dropped past a certain altitude he pulled the chord on his chest and opened his parachute, which was as black as his combat gear.

Gradually he landed on the ground, unclipped his parachute, took out his TMP and instantly scanned the area for any threat. He was always ready for the unexpected after years of fighting Umbrella’s bioweapons. Once he was sure that the area was secured for the time being he made his way towards a large warehouse. As soon as he reached the large metallic door of the warehouse a voice crackled through his radio.

“Agent HUNK. The lab will be in the lower levels.” The commander’s voice sounded. “You will need the access code to get in.”

Before he could give the code, HUNK interrupted him.

“The code won’t be necessary.” HUNK explained. “Something has ripped the doors open from the inside.”

There was a pause on the radio.

“Copy that.” The commander responded. “Proceed with caution, that lab was a store of various Umbrella B.O.Ws.”

“Copy.” HUNK answered.

He kept his TMP aimed ahead of him and quickly made his way to the large gash in the metal door. Before going inside, he turned on the small flashlight attached to the front of his combat gear and then stepped into the darkness.

The group had entered the far side of the office building. It was harder to breath because of a thick smoke that filled the air. It was evident that a part of the building had somehow caught fire and the danger of the smoke went without saying for every member of the group. As they entered one of the big offices they were greeted with corpses slumped over blood stained computers with smashed screens, paperwork littering the floor and flames licking the paint off the walls. The fire was upstairs but was working its way through the building and was compromising the structural integrity of the ceiling above their heads. The group slowly made their way through the office, always stopping to check that none of the corpses were going to get up and attack them. However, this took too much time for a now impatient Bailley, who started to march ahead of the group with her fire axe in hand.

She ignored the surprised and concerned calls of the others as she proved to herself that none of the corpses in the room were going to reanimate. She had failed to remember the danger the fire burning through the building posed and it was clear to the other members of the group who were watching her march ahead.

Suddenly, there was an explosion from the room above that caused the ceiling to partially cave in ahead of the group. Bailley froze in shock as the rubble fell in front of her and the sound of the explosion rang in her ears. She was too stunned to notice the support beam above her give way and swing down from the roof.

There was a sudden push against her back that caused her to fall forward. She didn’t know what had caused it until she heard a howl of pain from Vincent as the beam slammed into his side, vaulting him off his feet and out the window that had been shattered by the explosion.

Vincent felt weightless. He also felt a great pain in his side. He also felt fear. He knew that gravity would take hold and force him to fall to his death at any moment. The moment never came as a second explosion erupted from the building, the fire from it singeing his clothes and the force of the explosion vaulting him further away. The sheer momentum gained from the second explosion caused him to crash through a window of the building directly opposite. Vincent smashed the glass of the window and slammed straight onto a table alongside debris from the other building. His head smacked off the floor as he slid off the end of the table and everything went black.

There was a quiet ring as the elevator reached the desired floor. The stainless steel doors opened to reveal a dark and silent corridor. Flashes of light from the short bursts of electricity that reached the lights on the ceiling showed the smashed glass, paperwork and blood that covered the floor. HUNK turned on his flashlight again and kept his TMP at the ready as he stepped out of the elevator and into the dark corridor. His years of experience told him that the silence was a bad sign and was always dangerous as it could potentially lead a person into a false sense of security. He still had a long way to go before he reached his destination but he wasn’t about to complain for the lack of obstacles ahead of him.

The crunch of glass being shattered beneath his feet echoed through the corridor causing him to freeze in place. The echo was answered by the hungry groan of a zombie further down the corridor that slowly shambled out of the shadows. It was dressed in military gear but HUNK had no knowledge of any other units sent in before him. The zombie’s groans echoed down the corridor and through other parts of the facility, breaking the silence with eerie effect. He realised that shooting the zombie would be a bad idea as the sound of the gunshot would echo throughout the facility and attract a lot of unwanted attention. As the zombie closed in, HUNK holstered his TMP and rushed forward. The zombie lunged at him with its arms out stretched and its mouth wide open but HUNK pushed its arms aside, grabbed its neck and with a swift movement snapped it with ease. The corpse dropped to the floor without making another sound. The only sound was of the body dropping to the floor and smashing some of the glass shards beneath it.

As HUNK moved on down the corridor he noticed a lot of blood on the floor. Keeping himself alert he followed the blood to its source. It didn’t take long to find the source and when he did it caused him great confusion. The corpse at his feet belonged to one of the Umbrella Corporations most famous B.O.Ws; a licker. However this licker had been cut in two by something very big, very powerful and very sharp. He had seen lickers and other creatures torn in half before but never with such a clean cut. HUNK kept in mind that it was dangerous to be inside the facility and that it was a store for B.O.Ws but he couldn’t help but wonder what was being hidden down there that was now loose.

Flames, groans and shouts filled his ears as Vincent slowly regained consciousness. He felt pain shoot through his body and let out a pained groan as he tried to move. He slowly opened his eyes and was greeted with the sight of shattered glass, debris, blood and some flames engulfing shards of debris. He could hear the others calling his name but he was having trouble figuring out why that was. He closed his eyes again and tried to focus on what he could hear and that’s when he realised it. The groaning. There was a zombie close by and if he didn’t get up he was as good as dead. Before he could attempt to move again there was a strange noise before a bullet whistled past him and struck the zombie in the head, blasting its head apart and sending it crashing to the floor in a bloody heap. Vincent looked across at the other building and saw the group’s sniper, Deathshot, still looking through his scope.

With a groan of pain and effort he managed to get to his feet. He was bleeding but it was nothing serious and there didn’t seem to be any broken bones, which Vincent put down to being a miracle. He looked across to the others who were a floor above him and quickly realised that there wouldn’t be any easy way of reuniting with them. Burning debris continued to fall from the other building, crushing and burning the zombies in the alleyway below.

“Vincent!” Bishop shouted over. “Make your way down to the street and wait for us!”

Vincent gave him a thumbs up, not wanting to shout too much in case there were more zombies close to him in the building. He pulled out his desert eagle from its holster on his thigh and walked through the debris littered room towards the door. He grabbed the handle and shoved the door open quickly; taking a quick step back and aiming his gun should anything come rushing out. Nothing did. He cautiously stepped through the door and disappeared from view.

The building he was in was clearly a hotel based on the design of the corridors and the signature numbers on the doors. Like with most of the city, the electricity appeared to be out so the corridors were dark and intimidating. Vincent kept his gun aimed as he wandered down the corridor, his footsteps causing soft squelches as he stood on the blood soaked carpet. There were blood smears and bloody handprints decorating the walls and below them was the occasional half-eaten corpse. The smell was almost overpowering but he forced down the bile that was rising in the back of his throat, his face contorting at the burning sensation and acidic taste.

A terrified scream made him jump on the spot and aim his gun at an open door. He slowly and carefully approached the door before taking a look in the hotel room. The scene that was playing out before him made him freeze with horror as he kept his gun aimed. A little girl, only about seven years old was backing herself into a corner as a zombified woman slowly loomed over her with each step. He took aim at the dead woman’s head, preparing to pull the trigger when the little girl said something that stopped his heart.

“Mummy!” She wailed in fear. “What are you doing?”

The zombie was the girl’s mother and the poor child had no idea what was happening. The child obviously didn’t understand that her mother was dead and was simply a hungry corpse at this point. He knew if he didn’t take the shot then the little girl would get eaten alive but if he did take the shot then it would traumatise the child beyond belief. Vincent contemplated saving the girl. Even if he killed the mother and saved the girl’s life, how long would she survive? The girl would need constant supervision and protection that would be difficult to maintain due to all the horrendous creatures that were lurking in the city. Alternatively he could kill the girl and then the mother. He changed his aim but quickly turned back to the mother. He was no killer and if he was going to shoot anyone who was alive it could never be a defenceless girl. His hands shook from the weight of the gun and the mounting weight of the decision he had to make. If he left the girl to be eaten alive he could never forgive himself. It would mean enduring her agonizing screams as she dies. The girl’s desperate cries at her mother pierced his ears and his thoughts. He had made his decision.

The shambling corpse that used to be the girl’s mother groaned hungrily as it lunged for the now weeping girl but before it could grab her, a bullet shot right through its temple. The corpse slammed against the wall from the combined momentum of the gunshot and the lunge. The girl let out a shriek of grief and fear as her mother’s dead body slumped next to her. Vincent lowered his gun and holstered it before rushing up to the now hysterical child. As soon as he reached her she pushed him away from her and ran out the room, tears pouring out of her eyes.

Before Vincent could call out to her the girl turned to look to her right, then looked up and screamed in terror. He couldn’t see what she was screaming for but it became clear when a large, discoloured hand grabbed the girl by the head and lifted her out of view. Vincent jumped to his feet and ran for the door to save her, her petrified screams spurring him to move faster but he stopped dead in his tracks when her screams came to a sudden stop signalled by a strange crunch. Blood splattered to the floor before the little girl’s body landed with a sickening thud. Her skull had been crushed.

Vincent took out his desert eagle and ran out into the corridor. He was greeted with a hideous sight. The creature in front of him towered over him and was humanoid in appearance. Its skin was a mix of dark brown and grey with lots of bloated veins and arteries bulging out across it. It had a short stump for a left arm but its right arm was so long that its fist touched the floor. The creature had a relatively small head for its body size which looked more like a small skull with shining white eyes. Its face and the front of its neck were attached to its torso with long, thick strands of grey flesh that had a melted appearance.

Vincent shook with anger and hatred for the creature that had just killed the innocent girl in front of him. He fired his desert eagle multiple times at its chest but the bullets didn’t seem to do anything. The creature reached out to grab him but he avoided it by running away. Suddenly, the creature’s large hand grabbed him around the waist and brought him all the way back. Vincent was shocked that it had the ability to extend its arm so far. The monster growled at him but before it could do anything else he kicked it square in the face, causing it to stagger and loosen its grip momentarily. Vincent freed himself and quickly took off running from the creature. The sickening monster used its arm to vault itself along the corridor with surprising speed so it could keep up with him.  He reached the elevator and repeatedly hit the button in desperation but it wasn’t working. He turned in time to see the creature’s fist rushing towards him, forcing him to dive out of the way as it smashed the elevator doors. Vincent then opted for the stairs and started to race down them as the creature growled behind him in frustration.

Once he reached the bottom of the stairs and was in the hotel’s main lobby he stopped to catch his breath. Suddenly the creature landed behind him after having jumped from the landing. Vincent fired at the creature again but it used its large and muscular arm to block the bullets before swinging for him again. He jumped out of the way just in time and scanned the room for anything he could use against the monstrosity before him. That was when he saw it. A disembowelled corpse was slumped against the far side wall and lying next to it was a Mossberg 500 Combat Cruiser shotgun. The monster lashed out at him again but this time he ducked under the deadly arm and rushed for the shotgun, smiling in relief as he grabbed it and felt that it was still loaded.

Vincent looked at the creature that was growling at him as it slowly advanced towards him. There had to be a weakness or opening in its defences. As he slowed down and let the adrenaline flow away from his brain for a moment he realised the glaring flaw in the monster’s design. It didn’t have a left arm and was totally defenceless on that side. He scanned the room and saw a coffee table just next to the towering menace. Vincent swore inwardly. His plan of action was crazy and could only be done once so he had to get it right. The creature roared and thrust its arm at him. Vincent bolted to his right and ran for the coffee table. He stepped on the table and jumped as high as he could while taking aim on the left side of the creature. He fired the shotgun at just the right moment to send a large shell into the side of the monster’s head, blasting it open and splattering blood everywhere. Vincent landed on his side as he skidded along the blood stained marble floor and watched as the monster collapsed to the floor with blood pouring from the hole in its skull.

Vincent stood up and walked over to the creature’s corpse and kicked it to double check that it was dead. When he was satisfied he put his newly acquired shotgun in the holster on his back and was happy to find that it fit perfectly well. Looking ahead he could see the deserted and foreboding street outside and quickly made his way towards the front door. His heart was still pounding and his breath was still laboured but he was thankful that he had killed the strange monster and in doing so avenged the little girl.

The rest of the group were already outside in the street waiting for him. When the door to the hotel opened they all took aim on reflex but quickly lowered their guns when they realised it was just Vincent.

“Well shit, I just lost my bet.” Scott commented loudly from the group in mock defeat.

“Bet?” Vincent asked, curious.

“You were taking too long.” Scott explained with a grin. “I assumed you died.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint.” Vincent replied sharply and walked past him to lean against a smashed up taxi.

Vincent lowered his head into one of his hands and just stared at the ground. All that was rushing through his head was the death of the little girl. An innocent child with a wonderful life ahead of her, who witnessed the fall of the city, was attacked by her own dead mother and then had her head crushed in by some horrendous monster.

“What happened in there?” Seymour asked, leaning against the taxi next to him with a look of concern on his face.

“I’d rather not talk about it right now.” Vincent answered honestly with a slight shake to his voice.

Seymour nodded and silently accepted that now was not the best time for explanations and decided to look around the area to check that they were safe for the time being.

Meanwhile Bailley was leaning against the side of a bus with her fire axe loosely held in one hand, the blade on the ground as she contemplated what had happened earlier. Vincent had pushed her out of the way of falling debris and was almost killed as a result. He didn’t know her yet was fully willing to risk his life for her without a second’s hesitation. Having always seen the worst in men she couldn’t understand why he had done it. If he had known her for longer she could understand but as this was not the case she was totally confused. Her thoughts were interrupted by Ryan’s approach.

“You’re Bailley Gilbert, aren’t you?” Ryan asked with interest.

“How do you know my name?” Bailley asked, disappointed that her anonymity was gone.

“You did a signing a few weeks ago in HMV.” Ryan explained, leaning next to her. “I worked there before all of this.”

“Good for you.” Bailley responded, uninterested.

“And I must say you’re far better looking than I first thought you were.” Ryan commented with a smirk.

“Do I look like a fucking whore to you?” Bailley snapped back.

“Of course not.” Ryan quickly defended. “Just saying that I would if given the chance.”

Bailley slapped him across the face with her free hand.

“Typical pig!” She spat. “All you can think of is sex!”

It was just then that two firm hands grabbed each of them by the back of the neck and pushed them into the bus they had been leaning against. Bishop pushed them and ordered the others to get in. Ryan and Bailley each tried to complain but Bishop silenced them by gagging them and forcing their heads to look out the window to see further up the street.

Up ahead at the top of the street was an enormous horde of over a hundred zombies. Their groans echoed in the air and the stench of their rotting flesh filled the air and assaulted the senses. Bishop signalled everyone to lie down so the zombies wouldn’t see them and would hopefully pass by. Whether the horde was naturally walking through the street or had been attracted by the argument was unclear but safety was the priority.

After a couple agonizingly long minutes the zombies were all around the bus. Fortunately for the group they had no interest in the group and were unaware of the fresh meat that was mere metres from any one of them. Just as things looked like they were going to be okay one of the corpses on the floor of the bus woke up and took Sammy by surprise, crawling on top of her in an attempt to bite at her face or neck. She wrestled with the ferocious corpse as it hungrily tried to bite her at every moment. Caelian was about to get up and help her but Bishop held him down, reminding him of the zombies outside.

Sammy managed to grab the zombie by the neck and hold it out at arm’s length while she reached for a knife that was in one of her pockets. The knife wasn’t big but she hoped it would be enough. She succeeded in getting the knife from her pocket, flicked out the blade and stabbed the zombie in the temple as hard as she could. The corpse instantly stopped its ravenous attempts to bite her and slumped down on top of her as dead weight. Sammy rolled the corpse off of her and let out a sigh of relief. Now all they had to do was wait for the zombie horde to pass them by.

HUNK moved down the corridor towards the lab as silently as possible. He was still unsure of how many hostiles were down there with him and he wanted to reduce the possibility of any dangerous encounters as much as possible. When he reached the lab door he discovered many burned bodies, undoubtedly belonging to zombies and the evidence of a small explosion from inside. He stepped inside.

The lab was a mess of paperwork, blood, bodies, broken glass and some kind of liquid on the floor. HUNK looked to his right and studied the smashed B.O.W container, deducing that the liquid on the floor was sedative fluid. This too made him wonder what was going on in the facility and if the B.O.W that had escaped was responsible for the dead licker further down the hall. To his left he found a large weapon case and some other strange cases that he couldn’t identify.

HUNK approached the main computer terminal and keyed in the necessary commands for the remaining samples that were contained in that part of the facility. With a pneumatic hiss part of the console opened up to reveal two vials containing the T and G viruses. He carefully placed them into a secure, padded pouch on his combat gear and radioed in to his commanding officer.

“This is HUNK, I’ve secured the samples.” He reported to them.

“Copy that.” The gruff voice answered him. “Proceed with your next objective.”

“Command, an unknown B.O.W has been intentionally released.” HUNK commented. “Is there any Intel on the nature of the B.O.W?”

“That is not part of your mission.” Command answered sharply.

HUNK considered arguing the point but experience told him it was pointless. He simply turned around and made his way back to the surface to continue his mission. Despite his years of experience against B.O.Ws, HUNK hoped he wouldn’t have to face whatever had been released shortly before his arrival.

 


	7. Situation W

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leon's mission has failed. The BSAA have entered the city. Wesker is still pissed off and the group of survivors are in need of shelter.

# SITUATION W

Blood splattered onto the wall as the zombie’s corpse slid down it with the fresh bullet hole evident in its forehead. Another rapid flash of light illuminated the dark brick walls as the sound of a gunshot echoed down the alleyway. The gunshot was followed by the sound of the bullet penetrating the skull of another zombie before blasting out the other end, taking blood and bits of brain matter with it. This second corpse also collapsed to the floor as Leon backed down the alleyway away from the crowd of zombies that were pursuing him. Their groans of hunger echoed down the alleyway towards him as another zombie approached him with its arms outstretched. Leon ducked down and turned to his side at the same time so he could kick his foot up to the zombie’s chin, breaking the jaw and snapping the head back with so much force that the neck broke. As Leon stood back up another zombie came up to him from behind and tried to grab him, its cold, rigid hand grabbing his shoulder. Leon grabbed hold of the zombie’s arm and threw it over his shoulder into the other zombies to knock them over. With all the zombies on the floor Leon then took off running out of the alleyway and into one of the main streets. Burning cars, dead bodies, shattered glass, weapons, blood and other unidentifiable objects littered the street. The groans from the alleyway reminded Leon to keep moving so he kept his gun in hand and continued to run down the street. Fortunately there weren’t many zombies in this particular street so his path was fairly clear.

As he ran, he felt his phone vibrate and ring. He quickly ducked behind an overturned car so any zombies further down the street wouldn’t see him and answered the call. As usual, Hunnigan’s face popped up on the screen.

“Leon, how’re you holding up?” She asked with concern in her voice.

Leon double checked his surroundings before looking down at her and answering; “It’s not exactly the holiday I was hoping for but I can’t complain.”

Hunnigan smirked at him. “Enough sarcasm, Leon.”

Leon tutted under his breath. “I’m okay for now but I’m still looking for those survivors.”

Hunnigan sighed. “How can you be sure they are even still alive?”

Leon rolled his eyes at her pessimism. “I can’t be, but there are plenty of zombies that have been taken out around here, so they must be surviving quite well.”

“Listen to me carefully, Leon.” Hunnigan responded sharply. “Some recon jets have been scrambled to sweep the city and surrounding areas.”

“I’m running out of time, aren’t I?” Leon asked rhetorically.

“Yes you are. Unless a good reason is presented to preserve the city, they’ll destroy it before dawn.” Hunnigan explained.

“Just like Raccoon…” Leon shook his head in memory.

“The stakes here are higher than Raccoon and the virus has already spread over a much larger area.” Hunnigan explained. “The BSAA are working with the local army to secure the outer areas.”

“I’ll try to hurry up.” Leon answered before ending the call.

He stood up and checked his surroundings again to see that there were no zombies nearby. He kept his gun at the ready and continued on down the street.

 

It had been half an hour since the horde of zombies had moved on but the group were still in the bus to catch a break and organise themselves better. They had since dumped the corpse of the zombie that attacked Sammy outside so the bus didn’t get filled with the stench of death. Each member of the SWAT team had taken up a position at each of the doors to the bus except for Caelian and Sammy, who were sitting together after what had nearly happened. There was a cold silence in the air of the bus before Bishop finally spoke up.

“So, mind explaining what that was about?” He asked Ryan and Bailley with a stern glare.

“I was talking about how we first met and she exploded on me.” Ryan offered as an explanation.

“That’s bollocks!” Bailley spat. “You were chatting me up like I was some kind of cheap whore!”

“That’s enough!” Bishop barked angrily. “We almost got killed because the two of you lack any kind of maturity.”

The two of them took a breath to prepare a retaliation but Bishop cut them off by continuing.

“This isn’t the playground at school; this isn’t the happy hour in a club.” Bishop grilled them. “This is a life or death situation in which every decision counts.”

“Tell that to the idiot who thinks with the wrong head!” Bailley spat back, gesturing to Ryan.

“I’m telling both of you and you’ll do good to listen!” Bishop snapped back at her, his glare never faltering.

“I don’t have to listen to you.” Bailley retorted, looking away from him for a moment.

“Yes you do. You are part of my team now.” Bishop explained harshly. “My rules keep this team alive, so if you want to stay alive then you will abide by them!”

“Typical man who wants to control everything.” Bailley brushed him off.

“I trained to get into this position. I earned this position in the same way Samantha earned her position on this team.” Bishop answered her. “This isn’t chauvinism, this is survival. Take it or leave it.”

Bailey had the desire to retort again but couldn’t think of a good counter argument to what he had said. This gave Bishop the opportunity to finish making his point.

“I don’t want to hear another word out of either of you unless it is relevant to the safety of the group!” He finished sternly, still glaring for a moment before finally looking away.

Bishop directed his attention to Caelian and Samantha, who were huddled together as Caelian comforted her. Samantha had been shaken up from nearly being bitten by the zombie earlier and Caelian had felt totally useless because helping her would have alerted the zombies outside. For the time being Samantha had calmed down and the two just seemed to be whispering to one another.

“Sorry for holding you down, kid.” Bishop told Caelian softly. “But if I hadn’t we’d all be dead right now.”

Caelian nodded gently. “I know, my emotions got the better of me.”

“You’re human, son.” Bishop reassured him. “It happens to all of us.”

On the other side of the bus, Vincent sat with his head in his hands. His body language told how tense and upset he was. His head was in his hands so nobody could see his face or his eyes as he didn’t want to convey much weakness in such a situation where survival was paramount. He couldn’t help but see the little girl every time he closed his eyes and his thoughts went round in circles with possible ways he could have acted differently and perhaps have saved her. The image of that tall, disgusting monster smashing her head like it was a grape would probably haunt him forever.

A hand on his shoulder caused him to jump, bringing him out of his thoughts.

“You okay?” Seymour asked him.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Vincent lied.

“You’re a bad liar, you know that?” Seymour commented, trying to lighten the mood a little bit.

“I happen to be a very good liar, I’ll have you know.” Vincent answered. “You just caught me off guard.”

“Sure. Look, I can tell something is eating at you.” Seymour stated. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing.” Vincent replied, trying to avoid the subject.

“It is something and it concerns all of us.” Seymour told him. “We are all in this together, so stop trying to be Mr Mystery.”

Vincent glared at Seymour for his comment but then noticed that everyone was staring at him, all of them concerned and wanting to know what had happened. He sighed and began to explain what had happened when they were separated.

_A terrified scream made him jump on the spot and aim his gun at an open door. He slowly and carefully approached the door before taking a look in the hotel room. The scene that was playing out before him made him freeze with horror as he kept his gun aimed. A little girl, only about seven years old was backing herself into a corner as a zombified woman slowly loomed over her with each step. He took aim at the dead woman’s head, preparing to pull the trigger when the little girl said something that stopped his heart._

_“Mummy!” She wailed in fear. “What are you doing?”_

_The zombie was the girl’s mother and the poor child had no idea what was happening. The child obviously didn’t understand that her mother was dead and was simply a hungry corpse at this point. He knew if he didn’t take the shot then the little girl would get eaten alive but if he did take the shot then it would traumatise the child beyond belief. Vincent contemplated saving the girl. Even if he killed the mother and saved the girl’s life, how long would she survive? The girl would need constant supervision and protection that would be difficult to maintain due to all the horrendous creatures that were lurking in the city. Alternatively he could kill the girl and then the mother. He changed his aim but quickly turned back to the mother. He was no killer and if he was going to shoot anyone who was alive it could never be a defenceless girl. His hands shook from the weight of the gun and the mounting weight of the decision he had to make. If he left the girl to be eaten alive he could never forgive himself. It would mean enduring her agonizing screams as she dies. The girl’s desperate cries at her mother pierced his ears and his thoughts. He had made his decision._

_The shambling corpse that used to be the girl’s mother groaned hungrily as it lunged for the now weeping girl but before it could grab her, a bullet shot right through its temple. The corpse slammed against the wall from the combined momentum of the gunshot and the lunge. The girl let out a shriek of grief and fear as her mother’s dead body slumped next to her. Vincent lowered his gun and holstered it before rushing up to the now hysterical child. As soon as he reached her she pushed him away from her and ran out the room, tears pouring out of her eyes._

_Before Vincent could call out to her the girl turned to look to her right, then looked up and screamed in terror. He couldn’t see what she was screaming for but it became clear when a large, discoloured hand grabbed the girl by the head and lifted her out of view. Vincent jumped to his feet and ran for the door to save her, her petrified screams spurring him to move faster but he stopped dead in his tracks when her screams came to a sudden stop signalled by a strange crunch. Blood splattered to the floor before the little girl’s body landed with a sickening thud. Her skull had been crushed._

_Vincent took out his desert eagle and ran out into the corridor. He was greeted with a hideous sight. The creature in front of him towered over him and was humanoid in appearance. Its skin was a mix of dark brown and grey with lots of bloated veins and arteries bulging out across it. It had a short stump for a left arm but its right arm was so long that its fist touched the floor. The creature had a relatively small head for its body size which looked more like a small skull with shining white eyes. Its face and the front of its neck were attached to its torso with long, thick strands of grey flesh that had a melted appearance._

The group around him fell into silence from shock and horror. The tragedy of the little girl hung in the air next to the horror of what the creature was. Eventually, Mark spoke up.

“So, what happened to the monster?” He asked.

Vincent gestured to the shotgun on his back. “I managed to pick this up and blow its head off with it.”

“Where could have such a monster come from?” Jonathan wondered aloud.

“Your guess is as good as mine.” Bishop answered him with a shrug.

“If it was humanoid, maybe it used to be a person?” Mark suggested.

“That’s horrible but plausible.” Seymour stated in response.

“Still doesn’t explain how it came to be.” Vincent commented with a sigh, not wanting to think about the creature.

“So is the plan still to try get out of the city using the train lines?” Caelian asked Bishop.

Bishop turned back to Caelian with a nod.

“Yeah, it’s our best bet for now.” He affirmed.

The silence was then broken by the sound of jet engines passing over the sky above. The group poked their heads out of the doors and smashed windows of the bus to look up and see two objects that looked like black fighter jets flying over the city. It didn’t take long for them to disappear from view.

“What was that?” Ryan asked, breaking his order of silence.

“Reconnaissance jets.” Bishop answered. “We should get moving, time is running out.”

 

A sudden crack signalled the end for a zombie as its body fell to the floor after having its neck broken. HUNK continued through the street as he made his way for the security centre. He hadn’t used any guns for a while and wanted to keep it that way by simply breaking the necks of any zombies that approached him. In the short time he had been in the city he had already noticed how quickly everything was falling apart as the survival rate for anyone continued to decline.

Another zombie shambled out from behind a car and approached HUNK only to receive a kick to the chest followed by a snap of its neck. As the corpse dropped to the floor there was a pained groan from behind the car. HUNK kept his TMP at the ready as he slowly walked around to the other side of the car to investigate the groan. When he peered round he saw a slightly overweight man in a bloody suit lying on the ground, writhing in pain. On the ground next to him was a blood stained golf club that had been his weapon of choice. His left leg had been chewed on by the zombie to such an extent that it was almost coming apart at the knee joint. Once the man saw HUNK he crawled towards him and grabbed his leg with a blood soaked hand that caused a squeaking sound as it slid down his combat gear.

“Please help me!” The man begged. “Christ, I don’t want to be eaten alive or become one of those monsters!”

HUNK stared down at the man through the red lenses of his mask as he begged for help. The man’s breathing was raspy from the pain and the infection and his eyes were wide with desperation. HUNK answered his pleas the best way he could think of and with a tap of the trigger shot the man in the head, ending his suffering.

As the gunshot echoed around them he could hear some previously unseen zombies groaning in curiosity and hunger as they began to make their approach. Without wasting any more time, HUNK took off running away from the area knowing that the man’s corpse would likely serve as bait for any of the zombies who did manage to notice him.

After running further down the street, which just like all the others was an image of destruction and death, his curiosity got the better of him and he started to tune his radio for any signs of life. It was highly unlikely that anyone would survive for very long under these conditions but there were always exceptions. Most of the time there was mere silence or static from the local radio frequencies but eventually one of them sounded active. HUNK listened to it as he continued down the blood soaked road.

“Please help us! Send help now!” A hysterical voice cried on the radio. “We’re in the BBC Pacific Quay building!”

HUNK kept his back against a wall as he carefully looked around the corner for any threats before he continued on.

“We’ve run out of supplies and those things are everywhere!” The voice continued to plead in vain. “It won’t be long until they get at us!”

HUNK stopped for a moment as his foot splashed in a puddle of blood. Looking to his left he found the source, which was the top half of a woman’s body. There was no sign of the bottom half of her body but she must have been alive when she was cut in two due to all the blood surrounding her.

“Please help us! If you can hear this please save us!” The voice continued to plead on the radio. “We don’t want to die! Please fucking save us!”

HUNK turned his radio off as the cries for help turned into sobs of despair. He checked his surroundings and found an open area with various trucks and overturned cars. He assumed that it had been some kind of last stand against the zombies before being overrun.

“This is war.” HUNK muttered in regards to the BBC survivors. “Survival is your responsibility.”

As HUNK entered the area he found several bodies spread out across the ground. Some of them belonged to zombies and others had been the survivors. Blood stains were everywhere along with various kinds of weapons and a couple guns.

That’s when he heard it. A clicking sound and the soft thuds from heavy feet sounded from behind him. He whipped round with his TMP ready and instantly found the source of the noise. A large reptilian creature stood before him, making clicking sounds as it stared at him while taking a few steps forward.

“A Hunter Alpha model.” HUNK identified it. “Not much of a challenge.”

As if responding to HUNK’s comment, several other hunters announced themselves by jumping on top of the vans and screeching at him. The group of hunters had HUNK surrounded and were preparing to attack him. There was another shriek from one of the hunters and most of them jumped towards him. HUNK ran towards the first hunter that was also charging towards him. Once it was close enough to slash at him he ducked down and slid across the ground, opening fire on the creature’s soft chest as he slid under its legs. The creature shrieked in pain as it bled from the multiple bullet holes before collapsing to the ground.

The other hunters came running towards HUNK with two of them leaping towards him. He dived out of the way as they landed and opened fire but the hard scales of their backs protected them. The others who hadn’t jumped were still charging at him, forcing him to keep running to gain some safe distance to shoot at them from. He stopped at an abandoned car and turned round. A hunter that had been right behind him swung with its right arm, smashing the window of the car with its claw and stabbing the leather seat. HUNK had barely ducked out of the way in time but took the opportunity to shoot the hunter in the face before it got free. The bullets were successful in penetrating its face and head, destroying its brain and killing it. Another hunter leapt through the air towards him as it prepared to stab him with its claws but was knocked out of the air by HUNK’s gunfire.

The remaining three hunters rushed towards him but all of them missed because he dived out of the way in time. HUNK ran towards a stack of metal drums. He couldn’t tell if they were filled with alcohol, oil or petrol but he didn’t care. When he reached them, he took the top off of one of them and knocked it over to let the dark liquid cover the ground around the drums. The hunters charged at him yet again but all three of them slid on the fluid and lost their balance, crashing to the floor in a scaly heap with one of them knocking over some of the drums like bowling pins. HUNK dashed to find cover behind a wall before shooting at the fluid. As he had hoped, the fluid erupted into flames that rushed back towards the drums. When the flames reached the metal drums they all exploded one after another as HUNK ducked behind the wall as flames, metal and scorched body parts covered the area. A thick black cloud began to rise from the flames and consume the area.

HUNK reloaded his TMP and checked the area for any more hunters before continuing on with his mission. His next objective was to patch his employer through to the city’s CCTV network feed and he was now behind schedule.

 

The group continued silently through the streets. It didn’t matter which street they were in the scene was always the same. Abandoned cars, burning cars, litter, glass shards, bullet cases, blood and bodies covered the roads and pavements. Every time they passed a body they made sure to aim at it in case it got back up and attacked. The street they were in only had dead bodies as all the zombies must have been attracted by something elsewhere. The group maintained their original formation with the civilians in the middle and the SWAT members surrounding them. The only thing more unnerving than the sound of distant screams was the silence that they interrupted. A deathly silence. It was a radical change from even a few days before when it would have taken mere minutes to walk down the street but now it took over triple the time due to care for zombies and obstructions on the road.

A harsh scream filled the air around them causing all of them to point their weapons in the direction it came from. Several yards ahead a blood stained, blonde haired woman was being forced into the back of an abandoned car by a dark haired man in dirty jeans and a blood stained white shirt. Watching over them with a shovel was a younger man in a tracksuit who kept an eye out for any zombies. He panicked as he saw the group rush up to him, out of reflex he brandished his shovel but quickly dropped it when he realised how many guns were being aimed at him.

“Dougie!” The younger man hissed, holding his hands up in fear of being shot.

“What?!” Came the impatient and gruff reply from inside the car.

The woman’s attempted screams and grunts of effort as she physically protested to what was happening continued to sound from the open door of the car.

“There are people here!” The younger man yelped. It was clear he wanted to be anywhere but there at that moment.

The older man stepped out of the car, slamming the door shut before leaning against it as he fastened his belt again.

“Who the fuck are you people and what the fuck do you want?” The man, Dougie, asked them without hesitation or fear.

“We’re law enforcement and we don’t tolerate rapists.” Caelian answered, keeping his gun aimed at the man.

Dougie laughed in disbelief as he scratched his dark stubble and stared back at Caelian with dark, empty eyes.

“Law enforcement? Fucking law enforcement?” He spat out. “Fucking police at a time like this?”

“Let the woman go.” Caelian responded. “She’s seen enough horror in this city without you”

Dougie stretched his arms out to his sides and spun on the spot, looking around at the chaos in the street.

“You think there are any laws to enforce in this city of the dead?” He asked them with a rhetorical tone.

“It’s about what’s right, law or no law.” Bishop interjected, taking a step forward.

“Typical old bastard who believes in moral authority!” Dougie shook his head. “We’re all gonna fucking die but I plan to enjoy myself first!”

“You’re not going to hurt the woman!” Caelian told him, taking another step forward with his gun aimed at the man’s chest the whole time.

Dougie laughed again and pulled out a Beretta 92SB Compact with a nickel finish, aiming it at the group.

“Tell me, do you care about this woman more than members of your own little squad?” He asked with a smirk.

“You know fine well we can gun you down.” Bishop told the man. “It doesn’t have to be like that though.”

“Oh no, there are many ways this can be!” Dougie contested.

He used the gun to smash the window of the car door and aimed his Beretta at the woman who now had her hands up and was quietly pleading for mercy.

“I could shoot her instead.” He threatened. “And her death will be your fault, how’s that on your conscience?”

“It will still send you to an early grave.” Caelian threatened, taking another hesitant step forward.

“Get any close and she dies!” Dougie threatened, keeping the gun aimed at the woman.

Dougie’s younger companion stepped between him and the group with a sudden wave of bravery flowing through him.

“Dougie, what the fuck are you doing?” He asked desperately. “You’re going to get us both killed!”

Dougie glared at the younger man and hooked him with his free hand. The younger man collapsed to his knees from the pain, allowing the older man to grab him round the neck and place the gun to his temple.

“Or I could kill this little shit instead!” He threatened the group.

“If you don’t drop the gun we will gun you down!” Caelian threatened, not moving his own aim away from the man.

“And then you’ll all die too!” Dougie retorted with a laugh. “You’ll attract hundreds of those undead freaks from all directions!”

“We can take our chances.” Caelian answered him. “An attempted rape is hardly something to die for.”

The older man laughed again, still pressing his gun to his companion’s head.

“You’re not listening to me!” He spat back. “We all die. We’re all going to die! Enjoy life before it’s over!”

“By raping an innocent woman?” Caelian asked in disgust.

“Innocent? Fuck, man.” Dougie answered, waving his hands around again. “She’s just a piece of meat at this point!”

Caelian and Bishop remained quiet, not sure of what to say to the man or how to react to his comments.

“So, you can either make me kill someone and attract the undead!” Dougie continued. “Or be good mates and pass me some tape to gag the bitch!”

There was a loud bang and the splatter of blood as a bullet passed through Dougie’s head, taking brain matter with it as it exited out the back. The Beretta dropped from his hand and his body collapsed onto its back on the ground with a pool of blood leaking from under his head. His younger companion wailed in shock and fear as he whipped round to look behind him, observing the older man’s dead body staring up at the sky with lifeless eyes.

The group snapped their heads round to see Bailey with her Sig Sauer P226R in her hands. Her face was filled with concentrated rage that changed to satisfaction as she looked at the man’s dead body while putting the gun away.

“And what the fuck was that?!” Ryan exclaimed in shock.

“None of you men were prepared to put that dog down.” Bailey answered angrily. “You’d all sooner have him kill someone or rape that woman than do the right thing!”

“You’re fucking unstable!” Ryan commented.

“Never tell a woman she’s crazy” Scott warned Ryan. “That only makes them even worse!”

Bailey was about to shout at them again but the sound of undead groans began to wrap around them from all directions. The younger man in the tracksuit was visibly shaken and frightened so he took off running from the group. He didn’t get far because unknown to him a zombie had been lying dormant behind one of the cars and as soon as he ran past it grabbed his ankle strongly causing him to fall to the ground. The fall was so unexpected that he didn’t have time to put his hands out to stop his fall and as a result he smashed his face against the concrete. He yelped in pain as his nose was broken and burst open, the blood running into his open mouth. The scent of the blood attracted more zombies to his location along with his screams that acted like a dinner bell. The dormant zombie that had him by the ankle bit into it, tearing a chunk out of the flesh which prompted the young man to scream louder in pain and terror. The other zombies converged upon him with surprising speed and began to devour him. His screams continued until he finally died with the zombies continuing to rip apart his body.

“Good to see your brash behaviour has landed us in a safe situation.” Mark commented to Bailey, receiving a glare.

“He’ll be a distraction.” She commented, referring to the young man being devoured a few yards away.

Bailey quickly rushed up to the car and opened the door in the hopes of saving the woman inside but she was met with disappointment. Her head hung low as she realised that the woman had found a knife in all the chaos and had slit her own throat, opting to die by her own hand than by some psychopath or by a zombie.

Bishop grabbed Bailey’s arm and pulled her back to the group forcefully.

“We are leaving right now!” He barked angrily into her ear before signalling to the others to get moving.

The group quickly and carefully ducked past abandoned cars and other vehicles, using them to out of sight of the increasing number of zombies that were staggering into the street. The group rushed down an empty, dark alleyway as the chorus of hungry groans flooded the air from behind them.

 

HUNK had finally reached the main security centre for the city. Contrary to popular belief, all the CCTV cameras in the city were fed into this one building so that local law enforcement could have all video information captured by the cameras in one building. The building was a large, grey building with solid concrete walls and a wire fence that created a perimeter. HUNK glanced to the top of the fence and discovered that it was covered in several rolls of barbed wire. He looked to the ground and found a pair of wire cutters still being clutched by a severed hand. He pulled the cutters out of the stiff, cold fingers and used it to quickly cut a gap in the fence in front of him so he could enter the facility.

As he walked towards the main building he kept his gun ready for any zombies or bioweapons that could potentially attack him. The area around the building seemed strangely silent but he didn’t let this fool him and stayed alert as he approached the main door. HUNK kicked open the door and stepped inside with his TMP aimed and ready for any threat. None came.

The entrance lobby was wide and sported a few chairs and a couple smashed coffee tables. Aside from the blood on the floor there were no signs of life. Looking ahead of him he discovered a sign pointing to the elevators just next to the abandoned reception desk. HUNK headed for the elevator, walking past the reception desk without knowing there was a decapitated corpse behind it lying in a pool of blood on the floor.

Considering the building still had power he pushed the button and called for the elevator as he was not prepared to climb all the stairs if he could avoid it. The elevator didn’t take long to arrive on the ground floor and made a soft ding sound as the doors opened. HUNK aimed his TMP in case there was anything already in the elevator but he was only met with a mirror and his own reflection. He stepped into the elevator and sent it to the top floor where the main control centre was located.

The doors opened with another ding once it reached the top floor. The corridor the doors revealed was dark and bleak. Glass shards littered the floor explaining that the lights had been smashed at some point. HUNK turned on his flashlight and stepped into the corridor. The first thing that came to his attention was how much blood covered the floor and walls of the corridor in question. He walked down the corridor towards the control centre with the only noise being his footsteps crushing the glass shards that covered the floor. HUNK stopped for a moment just to listen to the building itself and that’s when he noticed a subtle sound hidden in the silence. It was the sound of breathing from some kind of animal that slowly turned into a hiss.

He quickly aimed his TMP up to the ceiling only to have it whipped out of his hands by a long tongue. The owner of the tongue was a B.O.W. It clung to the ceiling with large white claws in a posture similar to that of a big cat when hunting prey. Its body was a blood red colour because it had no skin so all its muscles were on show. It had no eyes and on top of its head was a dull pink coloured brain that was exposed. HUNK identified the creature as a licker, one of the most common of Umbrella’s Bioweapons. The licker dropped to the floor and hissed at him, whipping its tongue back and forth in a threatening posture before charging towards him. HUNK took out his knife and charged at the licker as well. When the two met HUNK jumped over the licker and slashed its back with his knife. The licker spun back round and grabbed his arm with its long tongue and vaulted towards him. HUNK grabbed the tongue and spun around on the spot to pull the licker through the air towards him and as he completed his spin he stabbed the licker in the chest with his knife. He then dropped the licker to the floor but it wasn’t dead. The licker growled in pain and frustration as it attempted to stand up again. HUNK grabbed the licker’s tongue and wrapped it around its own head like a noose before holding the licker’s body down with a stomp of his foot as he pulled at the tongue, breaking the licker’s neck.

The licker’s body slumped to the floor in a dead heap as HUNK let it go so he could retrieve his TMP from the floor. He double checked for any more lickers or for any life signs from the one he had just killed before continuing down the blood covered corridor. Once he reached the end of the corridor he kicked down the door to the main control room and swept the room with his TMP just to be sure. Fortunately there were no more threats so he could concentrate on his mission objective.

HUNK inserted a small USB device into the central computer system and radioed the commanding officer.

“Command, I have linked you to the CCTV feeds.” He told them.

“Copy that, Agent HUNK.” The commander replied. “We’re receiving the images now.”

HUNK observed the various video feeds on the monitors in front of him and took special interest in a few specific monitors. Most of the monitors showed the swarms of undead citizens wandering aimlessly through the streets. One of the monitors showed a multi-storey car park that had become home to a pack of lickers. Another monitor revealed a man under a bridge being pecked to death by a flock of infected crows. A third monitor showed a group of survivors in which half of them were members of a SWAT team. The group powered down a street in an organised formation. A fourth monitor showed the street just outside a building and depicted a tall man in a black trench coat and sunglasses entering the building. HUNK instantly recognised the man as Albert Wesker. The fifth monitor displayed a group of Tricell operatives in a gun fight with BSAA troops. On a sixth monitor he could see some kind of humanoid creature walking down an empty street. The creature was about 8ft tall and draped in black overalls with one of its hands being a giant mechanical claw and in the other hand it wielding a large Gatling gun. The creature walked up to the CCTV camera and smashed it with its claw.

HUNK radioed command again.

“Command, the unidentified B.O.W from the lab just smashed one of the cameras.” He told them.

“That B.O.W is none of your concern, Mr Death.” Command replied sharply.

“It will be if I have to fight it.” HUNK answered them. “Someone activated it and that fact could hold serious consequences for the mission.”

“Any more questions and you will no longer have a mission, agent.” The commander barked at him. “Find Wesker and kill him. Over and out.”

HUNK growled at the Commander’s attitude and suspected that there were plenty of things he wasn’t being told. Despite always being a soldier working for someone this was the first time he ever felt like a mere puppet to someone. Shrugging the thoughts away, HUNK continued with his mission and headed back for the elevator.

 

Due to the number of zombies that were loitering the streets and their desperate need for a break to discuss what had happened with the rapist, the group decided to find somewhere to stop. As they powered down the street they found a fairly undamaged looking building with light brown tiles covering its walls. The windows were narrow which reduced the risk of zombies flooding into it. They kept watch as they tried the door, which fortunately was unlocked and walked into the Café Andaluz.

The inside had once been a very decorative place but the chaos of the infection had caused it to become messy and blood stained. The walls were white and the fancy furniture was dark creating an appealing contrast in colour scheme. On one of the dark chairs the corpse of a business man sat with its head hanging back, a knife stabbed through its left eye socket and a fork in the right eye socket. The macabre scene was the first of many as various other corpses were slumped inside the café but all of them were lifeless. By their appearance they had at one point been zombies but they had all recently been killed either by a gunshot or by blunt physical trauma. This was evidence that someone was there.

It didn’t take long for them to find the person responsible as a tall man with dark blonde hair stood by the window wearing black leather clothes, most noticeably a black leather trench coat. He turned to the group to reveal that he was also wearing sunglasses and gave a patronising smirk.

“Well, well, I didn’t think there would be any survivors.” He commented, more to himself than anyone else.

The SWAT team instantly aimed their weapons at him, all of them still tense from their encounter with the rapist. A gargle from the floor behind Wesker came to their attention revealing that a heavily injured BSAA member lay on the floor.

“He’s dangerous!” The soldier gasped out. “Shoot him!”

Wesker pulled out his custom STARS Samurai Edge handgun and shot the man in the head, ending the troop’s pain and life.

This was the only indication that the SWAT team needed and prompted Caelian to open fire on Wesker. To his surprise, however, Wesker jumped into the air, spinning his body to avoid each of the bullets before landing back on his feet, staring them down. Gordon Walker then stepped forward and fired his SAW M249 light machine gun at Wesker who disappeared and then suddenly reappeared next to the large black male. Gordon dropped his machine gun and reached for his Hardballer pistol but couldn’t get to it before Wesker punched him and floored him. Jonathan shot at Wesker with his Glock but the man in black leather dodged the bullets by twisting his body into different positions before jumping forward to kick the SWAT team’s sniper into the kitchen. Wesker stood up straight, running his hands back through his hair to fix any faults in it while the rest of the group looked on in awe.

“This guy’s a fucking genie!” Scott exclaimed, unsure whether or not he should bother attacking.

“Small fries; I don’t have time for you.” Wesker commented to the group, his eyes glowing red under his sunglasses.

Caelian fired at Wesker angrily without thinking which prompted Wesker to jump into the air and spin his body again to avoid the bullets. The superhuman then started teleporting in zigzag fashion towards Caelian who tried in vain to shoot his advancing attacker. Before he knew it Wesker was upon him and had pulled his Carbine out of his hands. Wesker quickly smacked Caelian across the face with the Carbine before back flipping into the air as more bullets came his way.

Bishop rushed towards Wesker as he continued to fire his own Carbine but just when he thought he had a clear shot on Wesker the man in black vanished from sight. Wesker suddenly reappeared next to him and grabbed him by the throat before slamming him into one of the tables, which broke on impact.

During the chaos and bullet showers Mark was trying to make sure everyone was okay as was Samantha who had rushed over to Caelian’s unconscious form. They kept their heads low as more bullets were fired at Wesker by Scott this time. All the bullets were dodged with ease so Scott grabbed one of the knives from a table and rushed at Wesker in an attempt to stab him. Wesker caught the knife and bent the metal with little effort before grabbing the man’s arm and throwing him onto Gordon, who had been slowly recovering from the punch he received.

Ryan fired at Wesker from point blank range only to have the man dodge his gunfire as well with a swift lean to the side. Ryan was gobsmacked that Wesker had dodged from point blank range and hadn’t needed to see the attack to dodge it.

“What the hell are you?” He shouted in confusion.

“Disappointed.” Was Wesker’s one word reply.

Wesker rushed forward and gave Ryan a palm strike under his chin and then a palm strike to his chest which sent the man flying across the room before crashing against the wall, smashing the plates that hung on it.

Vincent rushed at Wesker with a flurry of physical attacks. He put his martial arts to the test and instead of going for his face; he went for Wesker’s arms that had been held up to block the attack. He tried to hit Wesker’s arms so that he could break the man’s guard and get the opportunity to attack his body but he couldn’t go through with it. Vincent’s arms and fists ached terribly from hitting Wesker in the same way they would if he had punched a slab of concrete. He rubbed his fists and arms in pain before remembering where he was. Vincent reacted in time to know Wesker was going to punch him and crossed his arms in front of his chest just in time to block a forceful punch that lifted him off his feet and sent him out one of the windows and onto the street. Vincent groaned in pain and winced from the glass shards that were cutting into him. As he saw himself bleed his heart raced with panic as the realisation dawned on him that zombies would be converging on the café in no time.

Gordon and Caelian jumped at Wesker at the same time but the leather clad man blocked Gordon’s attack and punched Caelian at the same time. He then grabbed Gordon’s arm and tossed him across the room before blocking Caelian’s next punch. Caelian winced in pain and shook his hand to alleviate some of the pain. Wesker ducked down and teleported again, kicking Caelian across the room before jumping out of the way of Mark’s gunshots. Wesker appeared to cling to the ceiling like a spider and used his Samurai Edge to shoot Mark’s Inox out of his hand.

He then dropped back down to the floor and advanced towards Mark to continue his attack but Seymour stood in front of him. Despite knowing they couldn’t beat the man, Seymour refused to stand back and not try to protect his fellow group members. He threw a punch at Wesker who caught it in his hand with ease. Despite Seymour’s superior body size and obvious strength he was no match for Wesker’s own. He threw another punch with his free hand and struck Wesker in the face but this punch did nothing other than hurt his hand.

Wesker pushed Seymour away and stepped back just as Bailey swung her axe at him. He continued to step back as Bailey swung at him wildly, decapitating some corpses in the process before Wesker stopped backing up. Bailey swung at him again but he caught the axe just below the head and pulled it out of her hands. He broke the handle of the axe over his knee before smacking her across the face with the broken handle.

He threw the head of the axe at a zombie that was trying to climb in the broken window and decapitated it instantly. Wesker then started jumping forward, each time he spun in the air in a horizontal position to avoid the bullets that were being fired at him by Bishop and Seymour. He continued to avoid the bullets in this way until he was close to them. Wesker kicked the weapon out of Bishop’s hands with a downward strike before placing his hands on the floor and kicking upward to knock Seymour’s USP Match out of his hands. He vaulted into the air and spun again before kicking both Bishop and Seymour off their feet.

Outside the café, Vincent could see the fight going on inside and stood back up, strengthening his resolve to keep fighting Wesker. He knew Wesker couldn’t be unbeatable, even if he was superhuman in pretty much every sense. Before he could continue his train of thought a zombie grabbed his arm and tried to bite him. He jumped back and lost his balance, falling to the ground on his back with a groan. The zombie shambled over him and dropped down on top of him in an attempt to eat him. He held the zombie back by placing an arm under its chin while his eyes scanned for something he could use to kill it as he couldn’t reach his gun. He growled under the strain of keeping the zombie from biting him as his free hand came across a large shard of glass. Vincent took hold of the glass and held the zombie further away from him before he shoved the glass shard into its eye and pushed it all the way inside its skull. The zombie stopped moving and collapsed on top of him. With another groan he lifted it off and got back up.

The group were on one side of the café and Wesker was on the other. They had all retrieved their guns and kept them aimed at him despite knowing he would just dodge the bullets even if they did choose to shoot at him. Wesker held his arms out and shrugged his shoulders at the group before him.

“Do any of you actually believe you can defeat me?” He asked them arrogantly.

“At this rate we won’t stop until we’re all dead!” Caelian shouted at him in blind fury.

Wesker chuckled at this answer. “Well then, I’ll just have to kill all of you.”

Just then, Vincent came running up from behind Wesker and jumped in the air and attempted a flying side kick. Wesker ducked down, causing Vincent to sail right over him. Vincent landed on his feet and turned around to throw a kick at him but Wesker grabbed his leg and spun on the spot, throwing Vincent towards the group. Vincent flew through the air until he slammed into the wall behind the rest of the group and dropped to the floor with a groan of pain.

“Now that you’re all together.” Wesker threatened as he advanced. “It’s time to end this.”

Suddenly the strong light of a car’s headlights lit up the café as everyone turned to see the source. A truck was rushing towards the café with a zombie at the wheel that had no chance of driving the vehicle. The truck slammed into the café, shattering the remaining windows and causing the front wall to collapse as the truck smashed through the furniture before stopping at the back wall. The truck erupted into flames with the zombie’s corpse slumped against the steering wheel, sounding the horn constantly and ultimately formed a barrier between the group and Wesker.

Vincent got up with the help of Seymour and Mark and looked past the flames but he couldn’t see Wesker.

“He’s gone.” He commented to the rest of them, still dazed from his injuries.

“Good because we’ve got bigger problems!” Bishop warned them.

They looked through the hole in the wall caused by the truck’s crash and noticed that a large group of zombies was advancing upon the site, the sound of the horn attracting them from all around. They didn’t need to talk to one another to understand that if they didn’t move right away then the zombies would overrun them and kill them. The group made their way through the café’s undamaged kitchen and out the backdoor that lead into yet another alleyway. They quickly ran down the alley and along the adjacent street in a desperate attempt to get as much distance between them and the zombie horde at the café as possible. As they ran there was one question that plagued all their minds. Who was that superhuman man?

 

**So Chapter 7 is finally complete. Chapters 8 and 9 are fully planned out so it’s just a question of getting them done when I have the time to write them (time which is very limited right now). As per, leave a review if you’ve read the whole thing and I hope Chapter 8 doesn’t take too long to write.**

 


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